


Does Not Compute

by CaptainKenway



Series: Shevine Police AU Because Why Not [1]
Category: The Voice (US) RPF, The Voice RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Police, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-12
Updated: 2016-03-12
Packaged: 2018-05-26 06:20:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6227302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainKenway/pseuds/CaptainKenway
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blake transfers to the LAPD. Adam doesn't particularly care about the new detective. Until he does.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Does Not Compute

**Author's Note:**

> So this work was inspired by one line in Taken 3 (which wasn't that bad of a movie considering it was the third in a generic action series). "Call one of our tech guys. We need them to work some magic on this video." Or something or other that inspired an indiginant silent rant on my part (even though I know shit about computers and have zero IT/any type of computer help experience). Either way, that line somehow inspired this 20,000+ word fic (This fic was supposed to be about half that size. I'm not sure what happened)
> 
> So general disclaimer: I know nothing about how police stations actually work and what tech analysts do. This is all best guess and me drawing from my crime show knowledge.
> 
> Happy reading :)

**Case Number: VT 34669**

**Incident: Sexual Assault**

**Reporting Officer: Detective Blake Shelton**

 

“We have a time sensitive request,” Jesse said, waving a manila folder as he exited the elevator doors.

Adam glanced away from his computer screen as his friend plopped in his desk chair. Even Jesse’s dark circles were prominent. Fuck knows what Adam looked like. “Put it with the other time sensitive requests.”

Jesse tossed the request on the precarious pile of files between his and Adam’s work stations. The other two technicians, James and Mickey, had a similar size pile between their desks. LAPD’s technicians had been overworked for months. Despite the obvious backlog, it was taking too much time and paperwork for their chief to even gain permission to hire another tech analyst to ease the workload.

Not that it took nearly as long for the department to hire a new detective. Adam hadn’t even realized there had been an opening for one. Most likely because there hadn’t been until some small town hero cop wanted to play detective in the big city. His high arrest records and surprisingly great publicity—he helped take down the Cheyenne Scalper, after all—made the LAPD practically trip over themselves to snatch the new detective. 

Maybe the new detective, and therefore increased caseload, would convince the bureaucratic obstacles to finally loosen so the chief could hire on a new technician.

Maybe. But unlikely.

_Ring._

Adam answered his desk phone with a brisk ‘Levine,’ his hazel eyes never wavering from the current video feed. He frowned, zooming in on a car’s license plate.

“I was calling to check the progress of the Linden case,” a southern accent said.

Adam blinked. “What?”

“Linden,” the voice repeated. “I need the phone conversation retrieved as soon as possible.”

“When did you send it down here?” Adam asked, briefly flipping through the two day old folders that surrounded him.

“About twenty minutes ago.”

Adam paused, before grabbing the newest folder Jesse brought with him. He flipped inside, scoffing when he saw the request was indeed marked as the Linden case. “Yeah, it’s still processing.”

“When will it be done?” the southern accent pressed.

“We’ll call you when we get the results,” Adam said shortly, hanging up as he rolled his eyes.

Lovely. So now, Adam had to contend with another prima donna detective who thought their case took priority over everyone else’s. The rookie detective would figure out the station doesn’t revolve around him soon enough.

He grumbled his way through four more requests, sending his findings up to the bullpen with a quick call to the corresponding officer. The technicians didn’t used to be so segregated from the rest of the LAPD. But at some point in the remodeling a few years ago, it was decided that the technicians would work more efficiently in the basement. To be fair, the potential of the setup was fantastic. Each tech analyst had their own work station, they were strategically close to a coffeemaker, surrounded with the latest technology (from a five years prior, but that was expected on government budget), and were generally less disturbed by impatient, overbearing officers. The setup just didn’t compensate for a severely understaffed technical department and the inevitably widening rift between the technicians and officers due to slow response time.

But it was a process.

_Ring._

_Ring._

_Ring._

Adam glared at his desk phone. The extension 077 blinked back at him. This better not be...

“Levine.”

“This is Detective Shelton calling—”

“Who?” Adam interrupted, leaning back in his stained desk chair. Not that he needed to ask. The southern accent was very distinct. Jesse tossed him the rubber band ball.

“Um,” Detective Shelton stuttered. He quickly recollected himself. “I called earlier about the Linden case. Can I have a progress report?”

Adam’s eyes flickered to the clock. It had been 40 minutes since his last call. “The Linden case is being processed.”

“Still?” Yep, that was definitely irritation.

Adam tossed the rubber band ball into the air. “That’s what I said.”

“How much longer will it be? Retrieving phone records is not that long of a process.”

It wasn’t. But Shelton had to wait his turn just like everyone else. If he didn’t like waiting, he could whine to the chief, which would probably result in at least one pair of—badly needed—extra hands down here since apparently everyone was dying to please the new detective.

“I’ll call you when your results are available like I do everyone else,” Adam said. “Then you can access them from your computer. Sound good?”

Adam hung up on the detective’s response. He had too much shit to do. He didn’t have time to coddle the new detective.

Shelton waited 30 minutes until his next call.

_Ring._

Adam didn’t wait for the detective’s question. “I said I’d call you when the results were in.”

The abrupt greeting momentarily threw the detective off. “I just want to try and expedite the process.”

“You’ll expedite the process even quicker by not calling every few minutes,” Adam snapped.

Shelton huffed. “It’s vital I get those records immediately.”

“You’re a detective,” Adam said. “Just work on another one of your cases.”

“This case is my main priority,” Shelton said.

“Fascinating. I’ll call you when the results are in,” Adam said, hanging up. He refocused on his computer screen. He glanced at his current request before running the list of bomb ingredients through an algorithm. Hopefully this one at least slightly corresponded with his previous results. He may have hit his keys too aggressively because he looked up to Jesse’s frown.

“That sounded fun,” Jesse said.

Adam snorted. “Talking to irritable officers is my favorite pastime.”

“It’s why we gave you the first extension,” Jesse said. “Officers are more likely to call you.”

“I don’t know how I’ll ever repay your for that,” Adam said dryly.

Jesse smirked, before nodding towards Adam’s—thankfully silent—phone. “Who was that?”

“They’re a persistent bastard, whoever they are,” James said, swinging his chair around to face Adam and Jesse’s work stations. “Usually officers at least wait an hour between calls.”

“But this is a for a time sensitive request,” Mickey said, “which differ greatly from all the other time sensitive requests.”

“It’s that new asshole that transferred from Fucktown, Oklahoma,” Adam said, ignoring the elevator ding. “He was Fucktown’s poster boy so he’s used to being top priority.”

“Or he was used to getting his requests processed before his retirement,” a familiar southern voice said. Mickey instantly turned down his music. “Oh, the advantages of Fucktown."

Adam swung his chair to face the elevator. Detective Shelton was taller than expected but the flannel shirt and cowboy boots were exactly what Adam pictured over the phone. Shelton would have nice eyes if said blue eyes weren’t glaring at him.

“I think it’s more accurate to say that you’re not used to big city paperwork,” Adam said, gesturing to the file towers the workstations currently carried. He smirked at Shelton’s momentary surprise. “You’re not in Oklahoma anymore. Welcome to LA.”

The detective took a deep breath, eyes refocusing on Adam. “I just need the phone records.”

“Yeah and I need cowboys to stop breathing down my neck,” Adam said. “We all have different priorities.”

“I put ‘time sensitive’ on it for a reason.”

“Get in line,” Adam said. “You’re not the only one with an urgent case. I’m fucking trying to triangulate a bomber’s potential whereabouts. Clearly, the LAPD has other time sensitive cases going on that don’t involve you. You can fuck off to the bullpen until I reach your request.”

Shelton hesitated, but his resolve was quick enough to strengthen. Adam wished for a moment that the detective was easily cowed, even if that did spell doom for the LAPD’s arrest rate. Blake cleared his throat. “I need—”

“You need to accept your request won’t get processed until tonight or tomorrow,” Adam said, forcibly turning back to his computer. “You don’t gain priority just because you came down and asked.”

“I need the reports or else the rapist will skip out of town,” Shelton said. Adam paused mid key-stroke. The slight rustlings and gentle taps from the other technicians slowed. “His father has the best lawyers. He won’t stay in town until we get evidence of his involvement. Right now, he’s scheduled to leave for Switzerland in a few hours.”

Adam turned back to Shelton. The detective hadn’t moved past from his original stance in front of the elevator, but the stiffness in his jaw now looked more determined than irritated.

“The only evidence is the victim’s testimony, but she’s a drug addict so his lawyers convinced the judge to dismiss her testimony.” The detective’s eyes turned desperate. “I can’t let the rapist walk on a technicality. Money cannot beat the law. Not this time. Those phone records are the only hard evidence we can access in before the flight.”

Adam swallowed. He couldn’t tear his gaze away from the blue eyes that drilled into him. “I’ll call you when the request in processed.”

The detective stared at Adam in disbelief. He scoffed, turning around to punch the elevator button. The elevator luckily slid open immediately. The detective walked through, shaking his head at Adam. “They were right. Y’all are too used to the comfort of your labs. You don’t care about the victims.”

Shelton’s face twisted as he pressed his button. Adam didn’t say anything even after the elevator doors shut. The typing and music started up a few moments later.

“Are you really not going to do anything?” Jesse asked.

“Of course, I’m going to do something.” Adam grabbed the Linden case and flicked it open. He opened a new window and began collecting the phone records.

The whole process took about five minutes.

Adam was mildly disgusted with himself that he held off on such a simple—important—request. Of course, with every request coming in as urgent, it was difficult for the technicians to sort the cases on a three hour time crunch from the cases that needed the results by the end of the week.

He uploaded the results to the LAPD database, glancing at his black desk phone. It was protocol to inform the officers whenever their results came through, especially when the results came exclusively in digital form. But he couldn’t control the way his stomach twisted at the prospect of talking to Shelton again so soon. The detective was probably bonding with the rest of the officers about the universally hated backlog and snark in the tech lab.

He released a breath. Might as well get this over with.

The phone rang twice before Shelton answered. “Detective Shelton.”

Adam hesitated. He couldn’t tell if Shelton’s neutral tone was forcibly polite or if he really didn’t recognize the extension calling him. The same extension Shelton dialed three times the past 90 minutes.

“The Linden case is processed,” Adam said. “The records are uploaded on the database. You can access them with your credentials.”

“Really?” Genuine surprise radiated through the phone. “But I thought there was a wait.”

Adam stifled his bitching about the LAPD excessively labeling their requests as time sensitive or their desperate need for another technician. Anything he said would sound like an excuse. Or an apology. And Adam wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to owe Shelton an apology. Instead he just shrugged, not caring that Detective Shelton couldn’t see him. “Yours got processed now. Good luck, cowboy.”

He hung up before Shelton could respond.

 

**Case Number: HU 89203**

**Incident: Car Theft**

**Reporting Officer: Detective Blake Shelton**

 

Adam forced back a gawk when Detective Shelton shimmied through the closing elevator doors at the last second. The detective seemed equally startled to find Adam outside the tech den so at least he knew this wasn’t a deliberate run-in. They both nodded curtly before mutually deciding to stare blankly at the closed elevator doors.

It took about ten seconds for both to realize they weren’t moving.

“Which floor do you need?” Adam asked, hovering over the third floor button. The officer’s bullpen—and Shelton’s desk—were on the third floor.

“Basement, actually.”

Adam blinked, pressing the basement button. The elevator groaned after a moment and began its descent. The LAPD didn’t care enough to invest money into elevator music so the duo stood in overbearing silence.

“So why are you going to the tech den?” Adam asked.

“I just had to clarify a request,” Shelton said, side-eyeing the tech analyst. “I forgot to include a suspect’s name on my list.”

“And this couldn’t be taken care of with a phone call because?” Adam’s tone was mild enough that Shelton only looked away sheepishly instead of getting offended. “You want to give a more personal touch to expedite your request? Again?”

“Can you blame me?”

Adam opened his mouth to defend the tech den when flickering lights and a long groan shook the elevator. Not again.

_Screech._

Adam winced as the walls began to shudder. He brought out his phone and sent a quick text to Jesse. He would be delayed for a bit.

_Bang._

Blue eyes widened as the elevator jolted to a stop and the humming went eerily quiet. Adam just sighed.

“Does the elevator break down often?” the detective asked.

“Often enough,” Adam said, pressing the elevator's call button.

“Yeah?” a voice drawled.

“Hey, Darryl, the elevator is stuck again,” Adam said.

Darryl groaned. “Alright, hang tight. I’ll get you out.”

“That wasn’t reassuring,” Shelton said. “Was that reassuring? He doesn’t sound like he knows what he’s doing.”

Adam already sat on the floor, drawing his legs to his chest. The detective looked impossibly taller from this angle. Detective Shelton vainly pressed the open button. Nothing.

“You might as well get comfortable,” Adam said. “Fretting won’t do anything.”

The detective stiffly stood in the middle of the elevator. For a second, Adam thought his advice would go ignored, but then Detective Shelton sat heavily on the other side of the elevator. He wiped a clenched fist across his already sweaty forehead.

“You’re not claustrophobic, are you?” That came out a tad harsher than Adam meant it to. Oops.

The detective huffed, letting his head fall back against the elevator wall. “I’m not a fan of tight spaces, but I’m fine.”

“Clearly,” Adam drawled. He winced. This was why he shouldn’t be around people in stressful situations. His mouth was rarely helpful. Fortunately—or unfortunately depending on the perspective—Shelton didn’t seem to hear him. “So, um, what did you need the tech den to do?”

Shelton released a breath, eyes restlessly flickering around the elevator. Thankfully, the lights were still functioning. Adam could barely handle panic in ideal settings let alone in pitch black. “Just track down a missing vehicle. I have a few potential suspects. I figured tracking their phones would be the easiest way to track down the car.”

“That’s why you should leave some of the thinking to the techies,” Adam said.

The detective frowned briefly at Adam before continue his useless, repetitious survey of the cramped elevator. “Why do you say that?”

“What year is the car?”

“2012.”

“Most new cars have a GPS installed in them. It’s easy enough to just find a questimate of the car’s location,” Adam said.

“Ah,” Shelton said. Adam couldn’t tell if his reddening face was due to embarrassment or an attempt to suppress his anxiety of his ‘not claustrophobia but basically claustrophobia.’ He needed a distraction. Why was Adam’s brain choosing now to be unhelpful and blank of all potential conversations?

“Do you have the car’s info with you?” Adam asked.

The detective held up a request form. “It seemed easier to just write up a new one. It has the basic car information. A more extensive list is with the file that was sent with the first request.”

Adam shifted forward, inelegantly shuffling over to Shelton because crawling was too awkward and standing and walking the two steps to his destination seemed pointless. So an inefficient compromise won out. The detective didn’t comment. Instead, he just frowned as Adam snagged his tablet from the floor. “Show me.”

“What are you doing?” the detective asked as Adam plopped down next to him and snatched the request. His tablet connected instantly to the internet. The tech analysts unofficially ensured that both elevator shafts had Wi-Fi coverage after the third time one of them got stuck in one. If no one would fix the elevators, then they would at least force some kind of compromise.

“No point in you going to the basement if I can fix your problem now,” Adam said, skimming over the information before turning to his tablet. “Besides, it’s something to do.”

“I didn’t think that you liked people cutting in line,” Shelton said mildly.

“Does it look like I have other cases to deal with right now?” Adam asked. “I’m impressive, but even I require something as trivial as files and information.”

Shelton snorted. Adam was just relieved he concentrated on him and not silver walls confining them. “It’s big of you to admit your weaknesses.”

“There aren’t many of them, but they exist,” Adam said, tapping one final time with a flourish on the tablet. “Case and point: Here’s your stolen car.”

Shelton jerked back, unapologetically scooting into Adam’s personal space to gape at the tablet. A little dot mid-way down Fifth Street blinked back at him. “How’d you do that? That was quick.”

Adam shrugged. “Before I was with the LAPD, I was a hacker.”

The detective’s gape grew more pronounced. “Really?”

“No, dipshit, I got a computer science degree like everyone else.”

Blake’s laugh was loud. It echoed in the elevator. Adam guessed the laugh was part hysterics, part genuine humor. Either way it was surprisingly infectious. Adam smirked.

“That’s less thrilling,” Blake said.

“Not everyone can be an action movie character,” Adam said.

“Well, that’s just pessimistic,” Blake said.

“Realistic, yes,” Adam said.

“Can you upload that to the database from here?” Blake asked, gesturing to the tablet and finally leaning away from Adam. “That way Luke can run them down like Vin Diseal.”

“Of course, they partnered you with the only other hick in here,” Adam muttered.

“What?”

“Already done,” Adam said. “Now text your partner so he can do his duty.”

“I didn’t ask to be put with Luke,” Blake said, as he slowly tapped out a text message. “He was the only detective on the force without a partner.”

“I didn’t even know the LAPD had an open detective slot until you showed up,” Adam said, shifting so his back was wedged in a corner. He still faced Blake though. He wanted to keep an eye on the detective if he ever ventured to anything relating to panic again.

Blake shrugged. “I don’t think y’all technically did. Luke said he usually worked solo, but the LAPD accepted my transfer and forced him to partner up.”

“Did you just get tired of Bumfuck, Oklahoma?”

Blake hesitated. “I wanted to get away from Oklahoma after the Cheyenne Scalper was caught. I didn’t like the aftermath of the serial killer’s arrest.”

“So you came to a bigger, more crime ridden city?”

“It sounds stupid when you phrase it like that,” Blake said. Adam hid a smirk at the detective’s slight pout.

“I doubt there’s a way to phrase it that doesn’t sound stupid,” Adam said.

“Why are you here then?” Blake asked, almost in a challenging way. Of course, Adam’s story was even less interesting than an impromptu transfer. Blake’s at least involved a serieal killer. “Since apparently you weren’t hacking into Hollywood then got recruited by the LAPD.”

"Hacker me would at least attract the FBI,” Adam said.

“The FBI isn’t all it’s cracked up to be,” Blake said.

“You’re just saying that because federal agents are assholes,” Adam said.

“Obviously.”

Adam stretched. Common enemies bonded people. It’s such an effective strategy. Why did he always forget about it when he tried to make amends with people? He rolled his eyes as Blake looked at him expectantly. “I was born and raised here. I graduated from UCLA and eventually came to the LAPD. My story is just that simple.”

“You are a very boring action character,” Blake said. “I had higher expectations. I blame the tattoos.”

“You’re the epitome of a southern stereotype,” Adam said. Blake looked unperturbed. “Out of the two of us, you can’t seriously call me the boring action character.”

“You called me a cowboy. Cowboys are dashingly rugged and badass.”

“Cowboys are old fashion,” Adam dismissed. “Sexy hacker types, though... That’s the modern trend.”

“We can take a poll,” Blake said. “I’m pretty sure cowboys will always beat hackers.”

“There are too many sexy hackers on the big screen,” Adam said. “The deck is stacked against you.”

The elevator hummed, lurching down with little fanfare. The detective scampered up, gathering his few files and immediately forgetting their conversation. Of course, it’s not like they were talking about anything important. Adam stood up at a more measured pace. To be honest, he’d expected to be in there longer. Why was it when he was with Garlic Breath Gary, he was stuck in the elevator for over an hour, but Blake was barely ten minutes?

Blake’s face brightened as the door dinged open. “Oh thank God.”

“Wow, thanks,” Adam drawled as Blake bolted out. The detective looked sheepish at all the eyes that instantly fixed on him at his abrupt escape. “I didn’t know I was that bad of company.”

“Fixed it,” Darryl said, slowly standing back to his feet.

“It’s about time, you lazy fuck,” Adam said, strolling out of the elevator.

Darryl rolled his eyes, wiping his hands with a towel. “Your mouth makes me want to leave you in there the next time the elevator decides to get stuck.”

“Darryl, I thought we had a special bond,” Adam said.

“We do,” Darryl said. “So much so the elevators always nab you for me. There’s a reason you’re stuck in there the most.”

“Thanks for everything,” Blake said, all sincerity and southern charm. Darryl looked momentarily taken aback. “I could not wait to get out of there.”

“I can imagine,” Darryl said, staring straight at Adam. “You boys have fun with your freedom. Don’t break my elevators again.”

Blake stared aghast as Darryl walked into the newly fixed elevator. “I didn’t mean... Adam, you were great. I just meant—”

“I know,” Adam said. “You just have this annoying tendency of making me sound like an asshole.”

“And act like an asshole,” James said, “but that’s probably just your personality.”

“Thank you for your support, Jamison,” Adam said. James mocked saluted with two fingers.

“Your tone does come off very aggressive,” Blake said. “But it’s nice to know that’s just a you thing and not a me specific thing.”

“Give yourself some credit,” Adam said as he walked towards Jesse’s files. “You bring it out of me too.”

“What are you looking for?” Jesse asked.

“Blake’s stolen car case,” Adam said. “I took care of it in the elevator.”

“Isn’t he a special snowflake,” Jesse said.

“Fuck off,” Adam said, grabbing Blake’s file. He turned around and almost slammed into Blake’s chest. When did the detective get that close to him? Adam recovered flawlessly though. At least, that’s how he would remember it. Along with permanently ignoring James’ loud snort. Adam shoved the file at Blake. “Here you go. Now scat.”

“That’s abrupt,” Blake said. “You’re a terrible host.”

“And you’re the dumbass that came down to the basement for no reason. We all have our flaws,” Adam said. He glanced behind Blake. “Want me to get you an elevator?”

Blake laughed humorlessly. “And be trapped by myself? Not a chance. I’ll probably take the stairs for the next month or so.”

“Eh, at least you’ll get in shape if you come down here often,” Adam said. He almost immediately flushed at Blake’s raised eyebrow. Shit. That sounded way more pickup line-y than Adam intended. Not that he meant to flirt with the detective at all. Sure, Blake was attractive and apparently not an asshole, but Adam had higher standards. Plus his main rule of never dating a cop was obviously broken with the detective. If he wanted to date Blake. Which he didn’t. Adam cleared his throat. “Or go to the fourth floor and bitch to the chief a lot. Whatever. Both will get you exercise is what I’m trying to say. Not that you’re fat, but, you know, losing weight is a byproduct of excessive stair climbing.”

Adam clamped his mouth shut.

Jesus Christ. What was wrong with him?

Blake just smiled, hitting Adam’s arm gently with his file. “See you around, Adam.”

“Bye.”

At least his friends were cordial enough to wait until the staircase door shut behind Blake before they said anything.

“That was brutal to watch.”

“Aww, does Adam have a crush?

“You took our ‘make nice’ advice further than I thought you would.”

Adam just raised his middle finger as he walked to his work station. “Do your jobs, assholes.”

 

**Case Number: ID 10133**

**Incident: Robbery**

**Reporting Officer: Officer Gary Dale**

 

Adam stared at Garlic Breath Gary. “This is the clearest I can make it,” he said for about the fifteenth time.

Garlic Breath Gary frowned. “But I can’t see the license plate or driver’s ID,” he said for about the twentieth time.

Deep breath. No snapping.

“I can’t magically make the video quality better,” Adam said. “Security cameras at gas stations are usually fake so you’re lucky that Chuckles had working camera footage for you to use.”

Garlic Breath Gary pursed his lips, stare flickering between the grainy video footage on his computer and Adam. “So there’s nothing you can do to clear it up?”

Adam forcibly clamped down on his annoyance. The chief made it explicit during their last meeting that Adam needed to be more of a team player. Ironic, considering the chief often held herself aloof around the other LAPD workers but he knew better than to call her on it. “I did what I could. We got a pretty decent shot of the suspect’s face along with multiple shots of his weapon, remember? That’s robbery, attempted assault, and probably carrying an unregistered weapon. More than enough to send Frank away.”

“But there’s no way to make the license plate clearer?” Garlic Breath Gary clarified.

Adam bit the inside of his cheek. Make the license plate clearer on the already pixelated black and white footage when the robber parked his truck away from the camera during the middle of the night? Yeah, no. “Not unless you want me to use CGI.”

Garlic Breath Gary’s face brightened. “Is that an option?”

He resisted doing a face palm. Barely. “Sure, if you want me to frame somebody.”

“We could find Frank’s current license plate number and—”

“Tampering with evidence is illegal, Gary,” Adam interrupted. “I was kidding about the CGI.”

“I know tampering is illegal,” Gary said. “But it would connect Frank to the crime. I need a plausible reason to arrest him.”

It was always worse when Gary tried to be condescending. “You have video footage of the suspect at the gas station and holding the cashier at gunpoint. I don’t think any lawyer will protest your arrest.”

“I guess...” Garlic Breath Gary said dejectedly.

“Alright, have fun arresting people, specifically Frank,” Adam said, abruptly standing up from Garlic Breath Gary’s chair. Gary always needed personal attention whenever he required even the slightest technical expertise. It was easier for everyone if someone just came up from the tech den and explained the results roughly fifteen times. Otherwise, Garlic Breath Gary would piddle around for a week confused by the technician’s results.

Adam, unfortunately, drew the short straw for this trip. This was his third time in a row drawing the short straw. Adam was beginning to think that Mickey rigged it.

“Oh can you get this virus off my computer?” Garlic Breath Gary said to Adam’s quickly retreating form.

“Call IT for that,” Adam called over his shoulder, deftly dodging around a harried looking officer. Gary always made him eager to return to the den.

A familiar southern accent stopped him in his tracks. “Who set your ass on fire?”

Adam glanced behind him to see Garlic Breath Gary distracted trying to convince the LAPD summer intern to fix his computer. The intern reluctantly sat in front of Gary’s computer after it became apparent no one would save her. “You try sitting one-on-one with Gary for thirty minutes. Then we’ll see who’s feeling antsy.”

Blake lounged in his desk chair. It suddenly struck Adam that he never saw the detective by his desk. When Adam came through the front doors each morning on his trek to the elevators, Blake was either gone or socializing by another officer’s desk. Blake’s long frame hunched awkwardly behind his desk and his legs stretched into the grungy bullpen aisle. He looked like he was in a kindergartner’s school desk.

“We all watched,” Blake said. Adam glanced to Luke and Usher, who nodded. Both were detectives and both were people Adam rarely talked to past shoptalk, but they seemed decent enough. Usher always gave the tech den a box of donuts from his niece’s annual band fundraiser so clearly he was a good guy. “I’ll be honest, I thought you would’ve snapped around the fifth time Gary asked you the same question.”

“You doubt the amount of Gary handling I’ve had over the years,” Adam said. “I practically built up an immunity.”

“I haven’t,” Luke said. “It’s why I always pawn him off on other people. I have no idea how he still has a job here.”

Adam shrugged. “He’s been here too long. Everyone pities him.”

“He is the only one I’ve seen get special tech treatment,” Blake said.

Adam put a hand over his heart, using two bulky officers’ approach as an excuse to get out of the aisle and lean against Blake’s desk. “I found you shit while we were stuck in an elevator. That’s pretty special.”

“We did find our perp a lot quicker than our staking out would have,” Luke said.

“The magic of technology,” Adam said, wiggling his fingers.

“The magic of technology didn’t show Gary the license plate,” Blake said. “The entire bullpen heard that failure multiple times.”

“I don’t know why you think that we tech guys are miracle workers,” Adam said. “This isn’t the fucking movies. You can’t get a perfect reflection off a car window, cell phone GPS is usually not at all accurate, and zooming in on crappy gas station footage always results in more pixels.”

“What?” Blake asked, blinking. “I don’t think that.”

“That was ‘you’ plural,” Adam said. “Not _you_ you.”

“Ah, that’s why you should use ‘y’all,’ ” Blake said. “It’s much less confusing all around.”

Adam rolled his eyes. “Yeah, excuse me if I don’t take grammar lessons from a hillbilly.”

“Nothing is wrong with being a hillbilly,” Luke said from his adjacent desk.

“Nothing is that great about it either,” Adam said.

Usher snorted. “Finally, I’m no longer outnumbered. Adam, can you move up here? I need you to help combat the southern duo.”

“I would, but I’d get hassled to death,” Adam said. “The basement is safer.”

“What? Don’t like turning down people?” Blake asked.

Adam raised his eyebrows. “I was talking about officers hassling me to look at their case first, not flirting.”

“Ah.” Blake turned an interesting shade of red.

Adam took pity on the cowboy and pretended he didn’t notice. Luke’s snort indicated that Blake’s partner would not do the same. “Besides, dating people at work is the worst.”

“Speaking from personal experience?” Blake asked.

“Nah, but I watched the fallout when James dated and then broke up with an officer. It was brutally awkward,” Adam said.

“Does the officer still work here?” Blake asked.

“The officer was eventually promoted to chief,” Adam said. “So yeah.”

Blake whistled.

“The chief now?” Usher asked. “Damn, how’d he get her? She’s almost intimidatingly attractive.”

“I think he blackmailed or drugged her and she reluctantly fell for his charms through sheer, forced exposure,” Adam said.

“You have such a high opinion of him,” Blake said.

Adam shrugged. “My theory isn’t actually the worst one. You should hear Jesse’s.”

“I don’t know if I should be intrigued or—”

“Hey, Adam,” Officer Jefferson interrupted. Both Blake and Adam turned to the officer simultaneously. Jefferson faltered momentarily. “Um, since you’re up here, can you take a look at my computer? It keeps deleting the old words on my report as I type? I don’t know how it happened, but I can’t turn it off...”

“Just press shift and insert at the same time,” Adam said. Jefferson’s face brightened, “and we have actual IT people. Use them.”

Jefferson waved as he jogged back to his desk.

“I’m getting out of here before I get swarmed,” Adam said, surveying the bullpen with general distrust. “People just see me as a computer whisperer, I swear.”

“But who else will help with our computer problems?” Blake asked.

“IT,” Adam said, “which I am not a part of.”

“But you’re a computer person,” Blake said earnestly. Only the mirth in his eyes indicated he knew just how much of an ass he was. “All computer people are essentially IT.”

Adam threw him a very unimpressed look. “I’m leaving.”

“But I need you to get rid of the blue screen of death with your magic fingers,” Blake said.

“Oh, fuck off,” Adam said, straightening from Blake’s desk.

“But, Adam, my internet isn’t connecting.”

“You’re super hilarious,” Adam said, walking backwards to the elevators. “Seriously, you should be a comedian.”

“Come back! I got locked out of my email,” Blake yelled. Some of the nearby officers looked up from their tasks to watch the duo.

“I’m not IT,” Adam called. “Fuck you and your dog.”

Blake’s chuckle followed Adam as he walked through the dinging elevator door.

 

**Case Number: LW 20347**

**Incident: Vandalism**

**Reporting Officer: Detective Blake Shelton**

 

“I don’t know, Blake,” Adam said, spinning in his chair. The rest of the technicians went home an hour ago, but someone had to stay behind to wait for the Skype call and data transfer from Washington D.C. and Adam drew the short straw. Again. Adam anticipated at least a couple hours of isolation and reluctant overtime until Blake wandered down with an extra cinnamon roll about thirty minutes ago.

Blake pouted. “Oh, come on.”

Adam looked away from Blake’s lethal pout and wide blue eyes. He chose instead concentrate on rolling the rubber band ball between his hands. “It’s called a police BBQ for a reason. Officers don’t generally invite any of the support departments.”

“You can say you’re helping me on a case,” Blake said.

“You promising your neighbor to scare her son shitless so he stops spray painting walls is not a case.”

“They don’t know that,” Blake said.

Adam sighed. “Blake, the BBQ is police tradition. I get why the officers don’t invite us. It’s not like I’m offended. You’re the only one making a big deal about it.”

“But they like—”

“Besides, we usually team up with the forensic scientists, medical examiners, IT, and everyone else for our own party,” Adam said.

“What do y’all do?”

Adam smirked, bouncing the rubber band ball on the floor. He knew that would distract the detective. “You guys have your clichéd police BBQ. We have our own clichéd gathering.”

Blake frowned. “I don’t follow.”

“We get drunk and have a video game tournament,” Adam said. “We also make the medical examiners play Operation because it pisses them off.”

“Y’all can do that at the BBQ,” Blake said.

“I told you this so you’d stop feeling guilty. We have survived in the past without attending the BBQ and we’ll continue to do so this year,” Adam said. “Enjoy the police BBQ without me.”

“Y’all should come,” Blake said. “I’m helping Luke and Usher supply the food this year. I’ll just cover y’all.”

“Blake, you can’t do that,” Adam said.

“I can and I will,” Blake said.

“This is the police BBQ,” Adam said. “If they wanted everyone there then they would’ve called it the station BBQ or some shit. Stop beating a dead horse. You need to accept—”

“I want you there,” Blake said, snatching the rubber band ball before it hit Adam’s hand. He paused, swallowing as he looked into Blake’s suddenly close blue eyes. “Please, Adam. It’ll be fun.”

“Fine,” Adam said, cracking far too easily. But it’s not like he could fight Blake. It’s not like he wanted to fight Blake, especially when the detective pulled his southern charm routine.

The detective’s face instantly brightened.

“I’ll rally the troops and we’ll crash your BBQ,” Adam said. “We’ll even bring food to apologize for it.”

“It’ll be great,” Blake said. “Just you wait.”

“Just know that I’m more than willing to use you as a human shield.”

 

* * *

 

“Fine, you’re right, you annoying person,” Adam said, opening up another cold beer. Blake just beamed at him.

The officers originally huffed about the extra people attending, but Blake gave them enough forewarning and passive threats that they accepted the influx of non-officers with only mild protest. And even those protests died when the attractive forensic scientists, Anne and Behati, showed up without their bulky lab coats.

Blake and Adam starting a volleyball game eventually broke the invisible barrier between officers and non-officers. Now laughter and loud conversation filled the park. The beer, food, volleyball trash talk—spearheaded by Adam and Blake—and sunshine served well in making the officers forget their initial grumblings.

“This just means you should listen to me more often,” Blake said. “About everything.”

Adam snorted. “Keep trying, cowboy.”

“Listen to me about most things?”

“That just seems wildly impractical,” Adam said.

“Being wildly impractical with you is half the fun,” Blake said, waggling his eyebrows.

“Blake, we’ve been over this: leering and waggling your eyebrows does not make whatever you just said a pickup line,” Adam said. “You always waggle your eyebrows at the wrong time, anyway. It never makes sense.”

“You sure?” Blake asked, waggling his eyebrows more deliberately.

“Positive.”

They both stared at each other until Blake waggled his eyebrows again.

Adam snorted. “You’re stupid.”

“Here the lovebirds are,” Luke said. He pointed at Adam using his beer bottle. “You both better be having a good time. You’re the reason Blake wanted to have this joint shindig.”

“And it’s good for inter-department morale,” Blake sputtered. Adam couldn’t control the warmth that coiled in his stomach at Luke’s point.

“We know the chief approves,” Adam said, nodding to the blonde who sat in a lawn chair by the volleyball court.

Luke loudly scoffed. “Morale. _Right_. That’s definitely your main motivation. Not getting in Adam’s—”

“Ok, someone has had too much to drink,” Blake interrupted as Adam choked on his beer. Red darkened Blake’s already tan face, but Adam knew his pale skin did not similarly cover his flush. “Give me your beer. You’re drinking water the rest of the day.”

“You’re not my mom.”

“You’re right,” Blake said, not taking his eyes off his swaying friend. “I’m the reluctant partner who doesn’t want you to embarrass yourself.”

“I’m not embarrassing myself,” Luke protested. He grunted as a water bottle hit him.

“Drink it,” Blake ordered.

“You’re no fun,” Luke said. “This is why you’re in charge of food and not entertainment.”

“Just drink your water, Luke,” Blake said. “You brought this onto yourself.”

Luke grumbled into the water bottle, sitting on a nearby lawn chair in a huff.

Blake timidly glanced at Adam. The tech analyst drained his own beer. They began talking at the same time.

“He wasn’t talking about—”

“So Luke really—”

Blake cleared his throat. “Luke didn’t mean that. He just likes messing around. I’m not surprised he gets raunchier when he’s drunk.”

“Yeah, I figured,” Adam said, not looking at Blake and definitely not thinking about the pang that resounded through him. Nope. That required more focus on his feelings than Adam felt like expending today. Besides, stuffing emotions into a box hadn’t failed him in 30 years. Why stop now? His eyes connected to the laughing tech analysts by the rented cabin, currently surrounded by some of the younger officers. “I should probably check on Jesse and Mickey. They don’t hold alcohol well and they’ve been celebrating because the chief told us we finally got a new tech analyst.”

“Really? That’s great.” Blake’s smile looked awkward.

“Yep,” Adam said. “I’ll be back in an hour. Prepare for a volleyball rematch where your ass will get solidly handed to you.”

Blake’s smile turned more genuine. “Big talk, city boy. Clearly working with computers ruined your hand eye coordination. We slaughtered your team in case you forgot.”

Adam waved a hand. “It’s all part of the plan.”

“You might want to work on your losing face,” Blake said. “Learn to hold back tears.”

“Watch it, Shelton,” Adam said. “I’m not above sabotage. Now drink your beer before Luke does.”

Blake turned away with a curse.

 

**Case Number: BS 20191**

**Incident: Homicide**

**Reporting Officer: Detective Blake Shelton**

Blake slammed the file cabinet shut, turning around and pushing through the mass of officers—most of who scrambled to get out of Blake’s warpath—and back to his desk. He threw the file next to his computer with a scowl.

Garlic Breath Gary frowned, forever unsatisfied with people’s initial explanations. “How did you get this list of people?”

Adam tore his eyes away from Blake, forcing his frown to lighten. Luke and Usher didn’t look away from their computers. They resigned themselves to a day with an irritable Blake, apparently. Adam didn’t notice Blake’s mood until he showed up to Gary’s desk ten minutes ago. Blake yelled at Officer Jefferson for spilling coffee on the floor as Adam exited the elevator. He tried not to gawk. Usually Blake was the type to help Jefferson clean up his mess or at least hand him a roll of paper towels. Instead, he lectured until the rookie officer looked two seconds away from peeing himself.

“Adam?”

Adam blinked at Garlic Breath Gary, realizing he wasn’t even staring at the suspect list Adam handed him. Gary just frowned at the tech analyst.  “I ran a few algorithms.”

“Are those reliable?” Garlic Breath Gary asked. “You can’t just trust data.”

“This isn’t just a mass of data,” Adam explained again. “It specified for your case.”

“How?”

“For fuck’s sake,” Blake swore loudly. Adam glanced over to see Blake clicking vainly at his computer. His shoulders were stiff. Luke leaned towards Blake but a low, harsh murmur from Blake sent Luke back to his computer with a sigh.

Adam released a breath. His crosschecking of people on the heart transplant waiting list with workers or parents associated with the private Catholic school system took little explanation. After Adam combed through the victims’ information, their kids attending Catholic school was the only other glaring connection beside the organ waiting list. But Blake’s agitation worried Adam more than he wanted to admit and Gary explanations always took at least 10 times longer than necessary. “Just trust me please, Gary.”

“Ok,” Gary said.

Adam blinked, focusing fully on the older officer. “Ok?”

“You haven’t led me astray before. I can just look over your report again,” Gary said. “Besides, you can probably diffuse Blake’s temper. He’s made the bullpen tense since he arrived this morning.”

Inexplicably, Adam felt slight heat rush to his face. And here he thought he was subtle in his concerned glances. The tech analyst cleared his throat. “Good luck, Gary.”

“You too,” Gary said with a small smile.

Adam nodded to Gary before walking slowly towards Blake. He ignored Usher’s careful gaze and Luke’s raised eyebrows as he stopped next to his desk. “Having fun solving crime?”

Blake didn’t look away from his computer. The detective kept reopening his document folder, clearly searching for something, before closing it with an increasingly exasperated huff.  “I can’t do this today, Adam. I’m not in the mood.”

“I can tell,” Adam said.

Blake glowered briefly at the tech analyst. “Don’t you have something you need to do?”

“I needed to tell Gary something,” Adam said, plowing through his pang at Blake’s obvious dismissal. He was fantastic at disregarding social cues, “and I had to say hi to your pretty face.”

“Hi,” Blake said pointedly. “Now, some of us need to work.”

“And you’re doing a bang up job of it,” Adam said. “You’re opening and closing your document folder like a pro.”

“I lost my current case data,” Blake growled. “I was just assigned it yesterday, but now all my records and testimonies are missing. So excuse me if I’m—”

“Scooch over,” Adam said, interrupting Blake’s increasingly heated rant and the inevitable attention it drew. The tech analyst didn’t wait for an invitation and leaned over Blake, stealing the mouse and clicking through his computer.

“What are you doing?” Blake’s hot breath puffed against Adam’s neck.

“Finding your shit,” Adam said. “Case name?”

Blake was silent until Adam shot him a pointed stare. The detective was barely an inch away so Adam could pinpoint the exact moment Blake looked down sheepishly. “It’s the Wilder homicide.”

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” Adam said, typing on Blake’s computer. The detective didn’t move even as Adam’s arm continuously rubbed against him.

“What happened to you not being tech support?” Blake drawled quietly. A bit of normalcy broke through Blake’s stiff tone.

“I make exceptions for some people,” Adam said.

Blake remained silent, slowly leaning into his chair. Adam didn’t comment on the fact that this pressed the detective even closer to him. He just continued typing on the computer and searching through the programs.

“This it?” Adam asked after about five minutes of silence. Blake’s breaths evened out and Adam felt the tension drain from the detective’s shoulders since he started his search.

“Yeah,” Blake said, taking the mouse from Adam’s unresisting grip. “Thanks.”

Blake may have been prickly, but there was no doubting the genuine gratefulness in his voice. But a gloomy air still surrounded the detective. Clearly, more than a case was bothering Blake. Adam didn’t like a brooding Blake. It went against everything natural.

Adam prodded his shoulder. “Let’s eat lunch. I’m starving.”

“I was going to eat lunch in an hour,” Blake said.

“You say that like I care,” Adam said, shifting so he loomed over Blake. The detective glanced up. “Come on, cowboy.”

A small smile wormed its way on his face. “Ok.”

It wasn’t until hours later, after Adam forced Blake away from his desk at 6 and invited himself into Blake’s apartment, that the detective confessed to Adam that today was the anniversary of his brother’s death. Which blindsided Adam, but he cut off Blake’s vague mumblings about apologizing for his behavior today—like he was some fucking child—with a hug. Adam really shouldn’t have been surprised that Blake instantly pulled him closer and buried his head in Adam’s neck. Blake was a very tactile guy.

They stayed comfortably wrapped on the couch until Adam loudly declared that drinks were in order. Blake allowed his obvious escape. The detective’s small smile turned genuine when the first thing that happened upon Adam’s return was a toast to Richie.

They spent the rest of the night working through a six pack and watching crappy television.

The slight hangover the next day was completely worth it, even when Mickey and James gave into their dickish nature.

 

**Case Number: OW 01923**

**Incident: Bank Robbery**

**Reporting Officer: Detective Blake Shelton**

Adam let his head fall back against the wall with a surprisingly loud thud. Nobody acknowledged it. Not that he blamed them.

The mom to his left was too busy rubbing her toddler’s back and shushing his cries—it was made abundantly clear at the first wail that tears were not acceptable—and the tall guy to his right hadn’t moved since shots fired into the air and loud voices shouted for everyone to get down. The bank employees all huddled against the wall across from him, eyes wide as the bank robbers paced on the polished marble floor. The other hostages were scattered across the same wall as Adam. He couldn’t study all of them, but he heard many shaky breaths and muffled cries.

He just wanted to stop by the bank before work. That’s it. But of course Adam’s bad luck followed him.

Bank robber number 4 walked away from the vault. They kept their ski masks on. But Adam at least caught glimpses of their white skin. Not that that narrowed down the police’s potential search for the robbers too much, but it was better than nothing.

The other three robbers watched his approach. None of them spoke.

Bank robber number 4 waved his radio. “Bill mic-ed one of the police officers. I told you he could be trusted.”

Bill. Adam hadn’t even thought about the bank robbers having people on the outside. A wave of unease overtook him. He didn’t like the idea of them having that much foresight.

“Mic-ing one guy doesn’t give us access to the entire police radio,” bank robber number 2 said.

Bank robber number 4 increased the volume on his radio pointedly. “It’s better than what we have.”

Adam’s eyes widened as Blake’s voice crackled through the room. _“I don’t care that SWAT finally came. We can handle this.”_

 _“You know this is protocol,”_ Luke said. _“Don’t let your personal feelings takeover.”_

 _“Their negotiator is fresh from the academy,”_ Blake hissed. _“I’m allowed to be pissed when some newbie is taking over when one of our own is in there.”_

_“We assist—”_

Bank robber number 4 turned down the volume. All the robbers stared at each other as the hostages held their breath.

“One of their own?” bank robber number 1 asked.

“Shit,” bank robber number 4 said. “We have a cop.”

“We can use that to our advantage,” bank robber number 2 said. He raised his gun. “Alright, cop, reveal yourself.”

Adam had never been more grateful for tattoos. The bank robbers' eyes skated right over him. There were a few immediate options that sprang to mind of what the robbers intended. None were appealing. One of the robber's gaze stopped on the man next to Adam. Obviously taking in his large build and military haircut.

Bank robber number 3 snorted at the resounding silence. “Not very protector of the peace right now, is he?”

“We just need to give him something to protect,” bank robber number 2 said, turning to the mom and toddler. The mom wrapped her arms protectively around her son.

Fucking hell.

“I’m not a cop, but I work for the LAPD,” Adam said, before the robber even took two steps towards the mom.

Bank robber number 2 paused. He pointed his gun at Adam. “Hello, cop. Welcome to the party.”

“I’m actually a technology analyst,” Adam said. Not that that would help. Blake’s voice hummed in the background, his familiar voice soothing his heady edge of fear.

_“—in twenty. We need to reinforce the perimeter...”_

Bank robber number 2 gestured with his gun. “Up you go.”

Adam climbed to his feet, raising his hands. The rest of the hostages seemed to shy away from him as if his mere presence was incriminating.

“Stand in front of the window,” bank robber number 2 said. “We want to send a message.”

“What? Public execution?” Adam asked. The unwavering stone gray eyes made his hands sweat. His heart pounded. “You realize that’d you’ll definitely go to prison. Robbing a bank guarantees some jail time but this...”

“Shut up,” bank robber number 2 hissed.

“You kill someone in law enforcement and your sentence gets at least doubled,” Adam said. “It’s a funny trend I noticed.”

_“Get the news van out of here. At least get it on the other side of the barrier.”_

Bank robber number 2 prodded him with his gun barrel. Adam shivered. “You're not a cop.”

“Cop or not, shooting me in front of at least a dozen witnesses is practically throwing yourself in jail for life,” Adam said, words spilling faster and faster from his mouth. “That’s not counting the amount of officers and news crews that will see it if you shoot me in front of the window.”

_“We need to get the hostages out...”_

“Shut the fuck up and get in front of the window,” bank robber number 2 said.

“Him shooting me will go on all of your charges,” Adam said, turning to the other bank robbers. “You’re his accomplices.”

The other bank robbers looked at each other.

“Maybe we should—” bank robber number 1 began. Adam allowed a flicker of hope.

“Don’t let him scare you,” bank robber number 2 spat. “You know better than to trust a cop.”

_“I’m not glaring at the kid. I’m sure he knows what he’s doing.”_

“Not a cop,” Adam said.

“Shut _up_ ,” bank robber number 2 said. He pressed his gun against Adam’s back. The cold metal made him instantly stiffen. “Now walk.”

Adam trudged forward, the gun never leaving him. He attempted to calm his racing heart. No luck. He stopped a foot behind the window. Maybe they couldn’t see him. Maybe...

Blake’s swear indicated otherwise.

The bank phone rang almost immediately.

_Ring._

Bank robber number 2 lifted the gun to Adam’s temple. Sweat poured down his forehead.

_Ring._

“We need to show who’s in charge,” bank robber number 2 said. “This is important.”

“You don’t want to waste a bargaining chip,” Adam tried. Fuck. His voice cracked.

The barrel dug into Adam’s skin. “I’m going to enjoy shooting you.”

_Ring._

“Bye bye, not-cop,” bank robber number 2 said.

Adam tried to find a familiar face in the sea of LAPD uniforms. His throat closed up as he spotted everyone but the one person he wanted to.

He closed his eyes.

_Ring._

The gunshot cracked through the air. Something cut through his hair. A loud ringing instantly engulfed him.

It took Adam a terrifying moment to realize he was still breathing.

He opened his eyes to see the window shattered in front of him. Bank robber number 2 sprawled on the ground, blood seeping from his shoulder. His mouth moved, but no words came out. Adam yanked the robber’s discarded gun off the floor, turning to point it at the other three bank robbers.

The man who sat next to Adam earlier now wrestled with bank robber number 3. He glanced at the other hostages. The mom pressed her son’s face firmly against her chest. The bank tellers’ faces held open terror, but their cries were muffled by the loud droning in his ears. The fat security guard wobbled to his feet, fumbling his Taser out of his pocket.

Adam locked gazes with bank robbers number 1 and 4. “On the ground!” he tried to yell. Adam didn’t hear anything. His tongue moved, lips shaped the words, and vocal cords vibrated. But nothing penetrated the ringing in his ears. He shouted again and the robbers dropped their guns. SWAT officers swarmed through the windows and doors.

Adam flinched as a hand touched his arm. The officer’s mouth moved. Adam just stared blankly. The officer frowned and spoke again. Adam handed the officer the gun, which apparently appeased part of the officer’s request. The other part soon became apparent as the rest of the hostages, including the wrestling man, who was miraculously uninjured, followed another SWAT officer out the bank’s doors.

He never relished being in the sun more. The sun indicated outside and outside meant away from that God awful bank. Adam really needed that right now.

Another hand grabbed his arm. But this one was attached to Blake so Adam’s tension immediately fled. Blake’s eyes were wide and his mouth moved. The ringing was growing less obnoxious but he still only caught part of Blake’s words. “Thank...almost...Adam.”

“What?” Adam asked, probably too loud judging by Blake’s raised eyebrows. “Sorry, I’m just— _oof_.”

Warm arms jerked him forward and Blake’s head naturally slotted in the crook of his neck. Adam didn’t hesitate as he wrapped his arms around Blake’s back, clenching his familiar flannel. Blake was here. He was right here. Blake’s own roaming hands seemed to do a similar inventory of Adam’s wellbeing.

They hugged long enough for the ringing to fade completely and the bustle of paramedics and officers to come into focus. They were surrounded by people, but Adam couldn’t force himself to let go.

“Don’t do that to me again,” Blake said, lips brushing Adam’s ear.

Adam shivered. “I’ll try.”

“Sir?” a paramedic said cautiously. “We need to check you out.”

“I’ll see you back at the station,” Adam said, releasing Blake and glancing at the ginger paramedic.

“If you show up, I’m marching you home,” Blake said. “Take the day off. The chief has explicit orders.”

“But—”

“Everyone can survive a day or two without you,” Blake said. “Y’all have Matt now anyway. He can pick up on your slack.”

Adam frowned.

“Don’t show up at the station,” Blake said. “Promise me.”

“Fine,” Adam sighed.

“Good boy,” Blake said. “Now, listen to the nice paramedic.”

Adam gave Blake a lazy salute, turning away so the detective would stop staring at him like Adam would vanish as soon as he blinked. The tech analyst followed the paramedic to his ambulance, nodding to random LAPD officers who deliberately passed them smiling. Adam sat on the ambulance at the paramedic’s gesture.

“So, was that your boyfriend?”

Adam’s heart stuttered. “No?”

The paramedic’s eyes widened. He coughed and fumbled for his flashlight. “Uh, just stare straight ahead.”

 

**Case Number: SH 22289**

**Incident: Arson**

**Reporting Officer: Detective Blake Shelton**

 

“You don’t have to stay here, you know,” Adam said.

Blake scoffed, stretching in Jesse’s long abandoned chair. “Like I would force you to do this by yourself. Crime doesn’t take a holiday.”

“I told you, I’m Jewish,” Adam said. “My family doesn’t care as much if I’m not home on Christmas Eve. Everyone else left hours ago. You should go home too.”

“Not a chance,” Blake said.

“It only takes one person to watch the computer,” Adam said. “I loaded up my program. All we can do is wait and see if it catches our guy.”

“I’m starting to think you don’t like my company,” Blake said.

Adam flushed, shifting his gaze to his computer screen. Still searching. Not that Adam was surprised. The most Blake and Adam could safely narrow down the arsonist’s location was the west coast. That left thousands of miles and IP addresses his program had to sort through.

“You know I’m not,” Adam said. “Just like you know I could have called you with the results.”

Blake shrugged. “My family is in Oklahoma. Unless I leave now and drive through the night, I won’t make it in time for Christmas.”

“That, shockingly, does not make me feel better,” Adam said. “Now, I just think your family will gut me for keeping you.”

“You’d only get slight dismemberment,” Blake said. “I took off a few days originally until the chief asked if I could lead this case, so my family can’t blame you too much.”

Adam frowned. “The chief asked you to work during the holiday?”

“To be fair, she never intended for me to stay here when she assigned me the case,” Blake said. “But we both didn’t anticipate the arsonist to target exclusively schools and churches. That puts this on higher priority, especially in the holiday season. The chief offered to bring on someone else to takeover, but I couldn’t do that.”

“Of course not,” Adam said. “Your hero complex is too strong.”

“I don’t have a complex,” Blake said.

Adam ignored him. “Are you even going to see your family this year?”

“I will eventually,” Blake said. “I’ll at least see them on New Year’s.”

Adam pursed his lips, wishing desperately he had something to keep his hands occupied. Blake nudged him with his foot.

“Don’t worry,” Blake said. “You’re pretty decent company.”

“Obviously,” Adam said. “But you see me all the time. I have no idea the last time you saw your—”

“I really don’t mind spending my Christmas with you,” Blake said. “It’s nice.”

“We’re in the tech den,” Adam said.

“Yep.”

“The only food we have is cold takeout.”

“That’s what microwaves are for.”

“You’re with a Jew.”

“I still accept you.”

“The most comfortable things we have are shitty desk chairs.”

“They’re better than what I have upstairs.”

“This isn’t exactly the most ideal place, especially around Christmas, is my point,” Adam said.

Blake shrugged. “You’re here.”

Adam ducked his head to hide his grin. He doubted Blake was fooled.

“So how’s therapy?”

Adam groaned. “You ruined our moment with an intrusive question.”

“Sounds like a regular family gathering,” Blake said.

“We’re not family.”

“You’re my substitute family this Christmas,” Blake said. “You’re just lucky I didn’t force you to get a Christmas tree.”

“There’s one in the bullpen,” Adam said. “We can just steal it and take it down here. I doubt the officers on duty will care.”

“We can’t take away their once source of happiness,” Blake said. “We at least have each other. They just have stale coffee.”

“You’re the one moaning about a Christmas tree,” Adam said.

“You’re the one avoiding my intrusive question,” Blake said. “So, therapy. Tell me about it.”

“It’s therapy,” Adam said. “Being forced to talk about your feelings isn’t my idea of a good time.”

Blake remained quiet until Adam glanced at him—big mistake. Blake watched him with unwavering big blue eyes, effortlessly ensnaring him. “Is it helping?”

Adam swallowed. It’s not like either one of them were going anywhere any time soon. And Blake knew him too well to let Adam distract him. “Yeah, Dr. Cruz is unexpectedly great. Not that it should be surprising. She does have a PhD and shit. I didn’t want to talk about it at first, but she has a way of making her office less stifling. It was easy to eventually just vent to her. She makes is all seem normal, you know? Even the nightmares...

Adam glanced away. “I feel stupid telling you about it, to be honest. You guys go through that type of shit all the time and you rarely need help.”

Blake rolled Jesse’s chair closer. Like Adam anticipated he would. But due to this anticipation, he could preemptively keep his eyes locked on his computer screen and away from the earnest cowboy.

“The first time I went to therapy I was barely out of the academy,” Blake said. Adam raised his eyebrows. Not the route he anticipated. “I didn’t expect much violent crime in Oklahoma when I started. I learned young that every place has its dark side. There was a case... I thought it was just a routine checkup on a ranch. The owner had enough complaints about his drunken behavior that the cops drove by his house every so often.

“He usually answers his door, but this time...” Blake swallowed. Adam couldn’t tear his eyes away. “This time he was in the barn. I only knew because I heard the whip. I assumed he was training a horse or... I honestly just assumed anything but was I saw.

“He was beating his wife and sons. With a whip. Until they were bloody and raw. I pulled my gun and yelled at him to stop, but he didn’t. I...I shot him. I didn’t know what to do and he just kept _beating_ them. He bled to death before backup and the ambulance came.

“I don’t know how long the abuse happened, but it was like his family was brainwashed. His wife screamed and tried to claw at my face when I first shot him. His sons just sat there broken and defeated. It was like they didn’t think they could accomplish anything. They were so lost without their dad. The youngest—probably about seven—wasn’t responding to anything. Not his mom’s frantic coddling, not his dad’s death, not the police’s questioning, not the paramedics... Nothing caught his attention. He still wasn’t talking when I left transferred eight years later. I just didn’t understand...

Blake sighed, rubbing his eyes with one hand. “I still can’t hear a whip without flinching.”

“I mean, I think that’s just human nature,” Adam said, tentatively reaching towards Blake’s other hand.

“So is freaking out when someone almost kills you,” Blake snapped. Adam crossed his arms. “DeFranco’s bullet barely missed you. If that SWAT sniper shot him one second later, that bullet would’ve gone through your skull, not hair.”

A phantom bullet brushed past his skull. Adam fought a shiver. “You think I don’t know that?”

“No, I don’t,” Blake said. He pressed a hand on Adam’s knee, turning the chair until Adam faced him. “You’re not weak for needing therapy. Everyone knows this, but you.”

“But...”

“Everyone experiences trauma differently,” Blake said, “and everyone goes through different experiences. It’s not fair to compare your ordeal to other’s. It’s not a pissing contest.”

Adam wanted to look away from Blake. He wanted to say something to break the heavy tension between them. But his mouth refused to function.

“No one judges you for needing therapy. Especially not me. You have to know that,” Blake said earnestly.

“I know.” God, his voice didn’t even sound close to normal. Luckily, Blake didn’t comment. He just grasped Adam’s hand. It felt like a lifeline.

“I’m just so damned relieved that nothing happened to you,” Blake said. “I don’t know what I would do without you.”

Adam felt his throat close up. “You would manage.”

“Manage, yes,” Blake said, “but be happy? I want to do more than just ‘manage.’ ”

“What are you trying to say?” Adam asked softly. Blake was so close he could count his freckles. 

“You’re important to me,” Blake said, “much more important than I ever anticipated. But I can’t bring myself to be too bothered with how much I’m invested with you.”

“Blake...”

“I know you don’t do relationships at work,” Blake said. “I know you don’t do law enforcement. I know this’ll definitely change our friendship, but, God, Adam... I want us to try. I want us to risk it.”

Blake’s thumb paused mid-rub on Adam’s hand, but he still gripped Adam in one last desperate plea. The detective determinedly maintained eye contact. As if he was afraid of rejection. As if their friendship had ever been strictly platonic. As if Adam and Blake haven’t worn their hearts on their sleeves since they first yelled at each other. 

“You’re more than worth it,” Adam said.

It took a second, but Blake’s entire face brightened when his words processed. The detective beamed, elation and wonder really giving Adam no choice in his following response. The tech analyst leaned forward, awkwardly hunched out of his chair until he loomed over Blake.

Blake melted under Adam’s lips. His mouth parted easily, happily. Still hands jolted away from the armrest and clung to Adam’s back, touching Adam like he was an addict and Adam was his drug. Blake and Adam were very tactile people, but this groping was new. They explored and touched with new possession, new intention.

Hands roaming up and down his back soon urged him closer until he straddled Blake in the office chair. Jesse’s chair squeaked and bent. Warmth bloomed in Adam’s chest. Blake’s desperate edge eventually transformed to slow tender kisses Adam sank into.

Why didn’t they do this earlier?

Blake tilted his head away. Adam mouthed down his neck. He didn’t want to stop. Not now. Not ever.

“Adam,” Blake said, breath shuddering delightfully as he licked a long strip down his neck. Adam sucked gently at his pulse point.

“Hmm?”

Blake swallowed. “Your...thing is going off.”

“It’s called a dick, cowboy.”

A chuckle rumbled through Blake’s chest. “No, I mean your program thing is beeping.”

Adam paused. An obnoxious beeping noise suddenly came to the forefront of his senses. He tore away from Blake’s neck, forgetting his position and almost toppling out of the chair. Luckily, firm hands steadied him.

“Shut up,” Adam said to Blake’s twinkling eyes.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Yet,” Adam said, using Blake’s shoulders as leverage as he climbed out of the chair. He turned to his computer, the results flashing across his screen. He didn’t acknowledge the sudden weight that curled on top of him.

Blake tucked his chin over Adam’s hunched shoulder. “That our bad guy?”

“Matches the partial signature I got from the fried piece of shit you gave me earlier,” Adam said. “If it’s not our guy then they definitely are associated with our guy.”

“You know, it’s because of situations like this that the police think techs are miracle workers,” Blake said. “I give you a burnt laptop and we get a physical address.”

“Don’t flatter me into being more tolerant of police officers’ outlandish requests,” Adam said. He straightened, forcing a grumbling Blake to follow suit. “Now, want to arrest the bad guy and celebrate?”

“Then we can go somewhere more comfortable?” Blake asked, waggling his eyebrows.

Adam knew he should roll his eyes. He shouldn’t let the warmth coil in his chest at Blake’s ridiculousness. Blake would be intolerable if he know how much of a hold he already had over Adam. But the tech analyst knew that his grin was too fond to be reprimanding. “Yes, you absolute dork.”

“Merry Christmas to me.”

 

**Case Number: QI 39012**

**Incident: Multiple Homicides**

**Reporting Officer: Detective Blake Shelton**

“It’s happening,” Adam said, coming to a stop by the bullpen’s coffeepot.

“Damn it,” Blake swore. “Already?”

Adam grimaced. “I just came from the chief's office. It’s happening soon. Probably today.”

“I thought we had more time...”

“What’s happening?” Luke asked, stopping next to Usher who sipped his coffee.

Usher shrugged. “Adam and Blake are being Adam and Blake.”

“Is something actually happening or is Adam just randomly visiting again?” Luke asked. Adam flushed, but didn’t turn away from Blake, who waggled his eyebrows. Adam thought his more frequent third floor visits after Christmas weren’t that obvious, but he should’ve known better. Actually volunteering to go on Gary runs was a giant red flag to everyone.

“I’m pretty sure something is happening,” Usher said.

“Feds are coming,” Blake said, finally acknowledging the other two detectives.

Usher and Luke groaned.

“Why?”

“Blake’s case,” Adam said. “Too many deaths, not enough leads.”

“Those crime scenes are all sterile,” Blake said. “I get what I can from them.”

“I know,” Adam said soothingly, clearing his throat when he noticed Luke’s frown. “But now the feds are putting in their two cents. They want a task team to walk them through the current progress of the case.”

“Christ, they’ll probably want me on that team too,” Luke said. “I was hoping to avoid the feds.”

“Don’t we all?” Usher said. “Self-entitled pricks, all of them.”

“Shut up,” Luke said. “You’re not involved in the Hollywood Homicides case. You won’t have to deal with them.”

“We’re not calling the case that,” Blake said. “Stop saying it.”

“All the victims are people who work in Hollywood or at least wanted to,” Luke said. “The name will be coined eventually.”

“I’ll lead discussion on the _downtown homicides_ ,” Blake said, pointedly ignoring Luke’s grumbles. “But the feds will need reports from Adam and Behati too.”

“I’ll tell Behati on my way to the basement,” Adam said.

Blake nodded. “Luke, let’s look over the evidence again. Maybe we’ll find a new lead before the feds get here. We want the FBI’s visit to be as brief as possible.”

 

* * *

 

They may have been a tad harsh. But, to be fair, relations between the FBI and LAPD were always grudging tolerant at best. This though... It made Adam feel like he should actually listen to the chief’s lectures.

Special Agents Williams and Stefani—Pharrell and Gwen, they insisted within seconds of meeting—were probably the most amiable FBI agents Adam ever came across. There were other people on the FBI’s team, including a Columbian tech analyst who Usher flirted with immediately and the detective wasn’t even a part of the LAPD’s task team. Blake glared whenever she laughed at something Adam said when they shared case information.  Blake’s reactions made Adam find excuses to be more involved with more of the proceedings and Shakira specifically.

It also had the side effect of Blake flirting with Gwen because he was jealous, not stupid. But unlike Shakira who only smiled interestedly at Usher, Gwen looked genuinely enthralled with the cowboy. Not that Adam could complain (or blame her). Adam and Blake were keeping their relationship on the down low because the chief frowned on office romances. Adam, rightfully, blamed James. There was also an obnoxiously large office betting pool on when he and Blake would hook up (Adam blamed James for this also) and the duo were not going to let someone undeserving, namely James or Luke, profit off their relationship. Adam planned to either recruit Behati or Jefferson to make a bet and split the profits with. But until then...

Adam’s eye twitched as Gwen giggled again and touched Blake’s arm. Again. Blake just looked insanely pleased with himself, smirking when they made eye contact. Asshole.

“His trend in victims is uncanny,” Pharrell said, probably the one person actually working. Adam was glaring at a chatting Gwen and Blake and Usher and Shakira were flirting shamelessly beside him. Luke fucked off after Usher became involved, claiming he had another case that needed supervision. “All of the victims held minimum wage jobs, but all were struggling Hollywood actors or writers. Too many were Hollywood hopefuls to be coincidental.”

It was a shame Luke left, actually. He would be quite taken with Pharrell right now.

“Blake calls the case Hollywood Homicides,” Adam said. His eyes were on Blake so he spotted the brief second of exasperation. The detective never made his pet peeve of officers giving cases a “cutesy nickname” a secret.

“The shoe does fit,” Pharrell said.

“That’s catchy,” Gwen said.

“It is, isn’t it?” Blake said, smiling at Gwen. Asshole.

“Our best bet is setting up a trap,” Pharrell said. “After we narrow down the killer’s next potential location, we can set up a few bait ops.”

“Who would go undercover?” Blake asked.

“We’ll try and limit ourselves to three ops,” Pharrell said, eyes not leaving the map of LA on the conference table. The crime scenes of the six victims were marked, seemingly sporadically, on the map. They could not find a pattern. “We don’t want to spread our resources too thin, but we need multiple feelers out.”

“We’ll probably use some federal and LAPD officers,” Gwen murmured to Blake. “We’ll need a list of experienced LAPD officers.”

Blake nodded, face thoughtful.

“Should we have someone pose as a prostitute? Samantha Green was a prostitute and a wannabe model,” Adam said. “Gwen, you said you have undercover experience, right?”

The blonde’s eyes widened before she regained her composure. Blake shot Adam a unimpressed look.

“The undercover agents will differ depending on the location,” Pharrell said, “but prostitute is unlikely to be an undercover option. Good idea, though, Adam.”

“We just need some obvious out-of-towners,” Blake said. “The longest any of the victims had been in LA was three months. It might just be a coincidence but...”

“Then we can just send in you or Luke,” Adam said. “You naturally scream tourist. You more than Luke.”

“Hey,” Blake said.

“You’re the epitome country boy lost in the big city,” Adam said, delighted in how Blake immediately—unconsciously—turned his back to Gwen to focus solely on Adam.

“I live here,” Blake said. “I probably give off a knowing vibe.”

“You’ve lived here for almost a year and you know how to get to two places: the station and your house.”

“I know where the bar and your apartment are,” Blake said defensively. How adorable.

“I live next to the bar,” Adam said. “I’m only counting that as one other location.”

Blake frowned.

“Besides, personal information and depressing lack of knowledge doesn’t matter in an undercover op,” Adam said. “It won’t be you. It’ll be country bumpkin and local commercial star Everett Humphrey.”

“What the fuck kind of name is Everett Humphrey?” Blake asked.

“Yours,” Adam said. “You were bullied in school because of it. It’s all quite tragic.”

Pharrell cleared his throat. Adam and Blake sheepishly turned their attention back to the federal agent. Gwen's eyes flickered between Blake and Adam.

“They do this a lot,” Usher told Shakira.

“Blake, do you have undercover experience?” Pharrell asked.

“Nothing extensive, but yeah,” Blake said.

Pharrell hummed. “We’ll probably use you, if that’s alright. You do attract a lot of attention.”

“Because he’s bigfoot,” Adam said.

“He does carry a certain presence with him,” Pharrell said.

“Is that a dig that agrees with me? I like it,” Adam said, offering Pharrell a fist bump. The special agent accepted with a smile.

Adam meant to leave after that. Despite Matt’s addition a few months ago, the tech analysts were forever running behind. Even with the chief’s permission to make the joint task force his top priority, Adam felt too guilty to completely abandon the tech den. But then he and Shakira started bouncing around ideas to trace the victims’ mobile routine and connections. He could tell the exact moment their conversation turned too technical because Usher left Shakira’s side. Then the LAPD and FBI tech analyst poured over their separate computers and occasionally picked each other’s brains. Adam only looked up after Shakira left for a coffee—and, no doubt, run into Usher—break. He blinked at the mostly empty room.

“You’re so sexy when you talk computer,” Blake said.

“Where did everyone go?” Adam asked.

“Pharrell and Gwen left a while ago to hunt down a new lead. I’ve been in and out interrogating suspects in one of my other cases,” Blake said, walking over to lean against Adam’s makeshift desk. He actually just commandeered some of Shakira’s space but the Columbian more than welcomed it. “But you’ve been in your own little bubble and oblivious to other people’s needs for a while now.”

Adam stretched, standing out of his chair. Fuck, he’d been sitting for way too long. “I’m sure Gwen could take care of your needs. She seems very attentive.”

“You should be nicer to her,” Blake said.

“I am nice.”

Blake stared at him. “You called her a prostitute.”

“Are you implying that’s bad? I’ll tell Candy and Lily the next time they’re brought in,” Adam said. “They’ll be very offended.”

“I like the way you lash out when you’re jealous,” Blake said, stepping into Adam’s space. “This could be a fun pastime.”

Adam scowled. “Don’t be a dick.”

“Says the one that flirted with Shakira as soon as she spoke geek.”

“She asked a legitimate question. It’s not my fault you misconstrued my response as flirting,” Adam said. “Besides, you and I both know that she’s making moon eyes at Usher. I was just being nice.”

“That’s what I’m doing,” Blake said. “Just being nice.”

“You’re vexing,” Adam said. “I forget why I date you.”

“I’m cuddly,” Blake said.

Adam fell into Blake’s chest, making the detective grunt. Blake stumbled, wrapping his arms around Adam.

“I suppose that’s a good enough reason,” Adam said.

“Your own assets are a bit different,” Blake said, slapping Adam’s ass for emphasis.

“Your puns are not one of your assets,” Adam said, escaping Blake’s embrace to stretch his legs. Of course, the conference room wasn’t terribly large and Adam didn’t want to leave Blake quite yet so his journey stopped at the conference table. Specifically by the LA map on the conference table. “Just something I tolerate so I can do annoying shit to you and you can’t complain.”

“You complain about my puns,” Blake pointed out.

Adam waved a hand.  “That’s to keep you humble.”

“Because clearly I’m the cocky one,” Blake drawled, sidling next to Adam.

“I’m glad you’re keeping up,” Adam said. He nudged Blake, forcing his boyfriend to look away from the map. “We’ll figure it out eventually. We always do.”

“I keep expecting the locations to suddenly make sense, but they’re not,” Blake said. “We can’t even tell if the crime scenes are where the murder occurred or if they’re just the dump site. It’s just so sterile when we arrive, but the bodies are always a few hours old. That’s too fresh for the body to have been moved far.” Blake ran a hand through his hair, turning to the wall of crime scene photos. “But the bodies are too scattered for the murderer to have a safe house to commit the crime. Everything is so God damn random and I hate it.”

“There’s a connection,” Adam said. “He’s only human.”

“A human that left no evidence and no witnesses,” Blake said. “He’s like a ghost. Even your street cams don’t catch him.”

“I doubt he’s working alone,” Adam said. “There’s no way all of the accomplices are as thorough as he is.”

Blake rubbed his temples, the crime photos from the six victims looming around them. Adam’s flickering gaze confirmed that no one was in front of the window of the conference room. The advantage of having the conference rooms on the fourth floor meant no bullpen traffic. The tech analyst slung an arm around Blake’s waist, standing on his tiptoes to kiss his cheek.

“If they are hiding, they’ll probably be just as subtle as you flirting with Gwen,” Adam said, “which is to say, not at all.”

Blake gave Adam a half-hearted smile. “That wasn’t serious.”

“Tell that to Gwen,” Adam said.

Blake pursed his lips. “She knows. Probably,” he said. “But I had to be unsubtle to get your attention.”

“You didn’t have to go obnoxious catcaller on me,” Adam said. “I do pay attention to you.”

“I wasn’t a catcaller,” Blake argued.

“You were worse than a construction worker,” Adam said.

Blake stiffened. All of Adam’s work to distract and relax him disappeared in seconds. But Blake didn’t look burnt out. Bright blue eyes turned to him. “Construction workers."

“What?”

“Who has access to cordoned off, secluded areas? Who blends in with loud gaudy machinery? Who can make pedestrians avoid ‘unsafe’ areas? Who could easily stow a murder weapon?”

Adam frowned. “Wouldn’t you remember seeing a construction crew nearby the crime scenes?”

“There’s construction everywhere,” Blake said. “It’s all background noise to me now. I know everyone else here is the same. None of us would remember nearby construction, yet alone if it was the same company.”

“I don’t want to be unsupportive, but how legit is this theory?” Adam asked. He hated watching the fire in Blake’s eyes flicker, but someone had to poke holes in his theories. God knows if Adam didn’t do it, someone worse would. “You’ve been looking for patterns since last month. I don’t want you to get overly invested in something just because you want answers.”

“It couldn’t hurt to look into,” Blake said, staring at Adam imploringly. “Please?”

Adam paused, waiting until determination hardened Blake’s stare. There was the detective Adam knew. His reaction to Adam needling his theories was always telling on Blake’s true feelings. “Of course, babe.”

“Thank you,” Blake said, his side pressed against Adam. They had certain rules at work. Mostly no excessive PDA. They even followed said rule occasionally. “I know that this kind of came out of nowhere...”

“Eh, it’s not the weirdest thing I’ve been asked to check out,” Adam shrugged, his shoulders shifting against Blake. “Hiding in plain sight is actually clever when people pull it off.”

“I know this asshole left a trail,” Blake said. “We just have to find it. Then we can throw him behind bars and he can get shanked by his cellmate Big Joe.”

“Your passion for the law is always sexy,” Adam said. 

“You’re always sexy,” Blake said.

Adam shook his head, hating that fact that Blake’s random compliments still caught him off guard enough for the tech analyst to noticeably blush. “Your accent also makes everything you say sound twenty times more sincere. It’s not fair, especially at work.”

“You’re sexy and I know it,” Blake said.

“If you name one other lyric to that song, I will blow you right now,” Adam said.

“There are more lyrics to that song?” Blake asked. “Can we have a do over of that bet?  Specifically with a country song? I’d be completely for that.”

“Nope,” Adam said, popping his p. “You lost. You should be more versed in non-country culture.”

Blake hummed. “Since I lost, do I need to blow you now?”

“I mean, I won’t stop you.”

“Really?” Blake said. “In the conference room that people pass pretty much constantly? The conference room our federal friends will soon return to?”

“You offered,” Adam said. His throat was drier than he anticipated.

“You’re such an exhibitionist.”

“It was your offer,” Adam repeated. “Don’t blame this on me.”

“Are you going to tell me to ‘suck it’ now?”

“Stop sexually harassing me so I can work,” Adam said, talking louder to cut off Blake’s instant retort. “The sooner I finish, the sooner I’ll make—”

“Am I interrupting something?” Shakira asked. She stood in the doorway with two cups of coffee. She smugly drank one as Adam cleared his throat awkwardly.

“There’s a rhyme to this madness,” Adam said, snagging her extra coffee and heading back to his vacant chair. “Also, you’re a God-send.”

“What?”

“We might’ve found a pattern,” Blake said.

 

* * *

 

“I’m Celina,” the brunette purred, batting her eyes. “You’re absolutely scrumptious sitting here all by your lonesome.”

“Wow, Celina sounds like a serial killer,” Adam said, seventy feet away in a van claiming to be from ‘Hughes Electric,’ but acted as one of the FBI and LAPD’s surveillance vans. Hopefully they weren’t as obvious as Adam felt. He watched as a Celina checked out Blake, her eyes flicking obliviously over the camera on his glasses. “Flirt with her more, cowboy. Get us a last name. You know facial recognition software takes fucking forever. We would prefer to discover the murderer before they lead you astray.”

“Have we met?” Blake asked. “I swear, you look so familiar.”

Celina giggled. “No, I would remember meeting you.”

“I would remember meeting Celina too,” Adam told Pharrell, who also wore a bulky headset to listen into Blake’s feed. Pharrell had yet to give Blake any instructions once the detective entered the bar, which was surprisingly laid back for a federal agent. “Fuck, her laugh is grating.”

Pharrell shrugged. His original protests at Adam’s chatter stopped after it became apparent Blake became stiff as a board and awkward without Adam yammering in his ear.

“Dang, I was hoping for a familiar face,” Blake said.

“I can pretend to be a familiar face.”

“I take it back,” Adam said. “She might be a hooker. Blake, don’t go anywhere with her. The LAPD can’t afford it.”

“Celina is much prettier than Evan, more exotic,” Blake said. “Evan O’Bryan doesn’t exactly scream excitement.”

Celina’s grin turned wicked, her hand drifted off frame. Adam scowled. “I can scream Evan O’Bryan excitedly.”

“People actually talk like this?” Adam said. “What the fuck? I can’t tell if she just wants Blake, to murder, or his money.”

“Probably money,” Pharrell said.

“True, Blake’s usual sexual prowess is covered by bulky glasses and a heinous alias. Evan O’Bryan? Really?”

“And what name would I be screaming?” Blake rumbled.

Celina blinked, momentarily taken aback. Adam couldn’t blame her. Blake’s voice was a force of nature. It made his dick twitch and he was coming onto another woman.

“Celina Harriett,” Celina breathed.

“Good job, cowboy,” Adam said, searching for Celina Harriet. Luckily, her arrest records pulled her up immediately. “Try not to have sex with her.”

Pharrell glanced at her records, her mugshot glaring back at him. “Definitely the same person.”

“And a prostitute,” Adam said, pulling up her short list of charges. “I’m surprised she gave her real name out to a John.”

“She’s probably not the murderer,” Pharrell said. “I think she’s fairly new in prostitution.”

“Murders might be how she copes with her new career choice,” Adam said. “People kill for less.”

“One way to find out,” Pharrell said. “Blake, tell her you don’t want to pay for anything. If she’s just after another client then she’ll leave.”

“Oh, I love a good time,” Blake said. “But only free ones if you get my drift...”

Celina’s entire demeanor changed. “Free? You think I’m a fucking prostitute?”

“I mean, uh,” Blake stuttered. “Just from how you were talking I assumed—”

“Fuck you,” Celina said. “I came here for a good time. Screw. You.”

Adam kind of wished Celina threw a drink in Blake’s face, but that would destroy the equipment. Some people gawked at the duo.

“Sorry!” Blake called as she stormed off. The camera jerkily went to the table and swung around the room. It took a second for Adam to realize Blake was cleaning the lenses. The camera shook, partially showing Blake’s glare. “What the fuck, guys?”

“She _was_ a prostitute,” Pharrell said.

“Everett Humphrey would never insult such a fine lady,” Adam said.

“I hate you both,” Blake muttered.

“Don’t talk to yourself like a crazy person,” Adam said. “Remain enticing to serial killers, please.”

“She was a prostitute,” Pharrell said, scanning her file on the computer screen again. “I didn’t just throw that out there.”

“I know,” Adam said, patting the federal agent.

Of course, they could be staking out the wrong bar entirely. Blake’s hunch paid off. There were several construction crews in downtown LA, but only two of them had projects by all the crimes scenes. And, out of those two construction companies, only Lively & Offerman worked the nights of each murder. It was even more incriminating when the same client—‘Joe Bush’ according to the records—paid for each of those projects. Blake was ecstatic—and left Gwen’s side to hug him—when he and Shakira shared the news.

Lively & Offerman were doing minor patch jobs, which was big enough to grant some larger equipment and to put up barriers, but small enough to vanish after a few days. The construction crew was consistently on the same block as the crime scene. If Lively & Offerman weren’t guilty, they were epitome of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Once they discovered Lively & Offerman had a new project from Joe Bush—through means that weren’t technically legal, but time was of the essence—they were quick to act on the narrow window. The job would be finished in a few days and, if it was like any of the past Joe Bush jobs, a murder would occur during that time. So far, it was determined that the serial killer mostly picked up his victims from bars. It was a working theory since most of the witnesses giving the victims’ alibis were either not paying attention or drunk. But Pharrell organized a few surveillance vans and undercover officers and agents to scope the bar scenes and, hopefully, act as bait. 

Gwen and her team staked out Lively & Offerman’s worksite while another federal officer and Jefferson were in other bars on the block. It wasn’t an exact science but at least Gwen’s van would actually gain helpful information and finally get the case some traction. Lively & Offerman had to be personally invested in these crimes. He doubted that “Joe Bush” was actually paying the company as much money as was on their contracts. If he was then Joe Bush was terrifyingly loaded and could afford to cover up hundreds of murders.

Why a construction crew—Lively & Offerman wasn’t a shell company. Their records were too extensive and thorough for that—had an apparent vendetta against Hollywood wannabes, Adam had no idea. Unless the core Hollywood wannabe victim trend was coincidental, but that was too demoralizing to think of. Without that pattern they truly had nothing, especially if these stakeouts were a bust.

“That was brutal to watch,” a new voice said. The glasses camera turned to show a man slide into Celina’s vacant seat. The man screamed bland. He was average height, average build, and thinning hair. His most noticeable feature was a crooked nose. “I feel like I should get you a drink just from my secondhand embarrassment.”

Blake snorted. “Yeah, I really need to obliterate that from my memory.”

“You new in town?”

“Is it that obvious?” Blake asked.

“Yep,” the man said. He seemed more intent on scoping the room than talking. “Course we’ve all be there, but calling a girl a prostitute... Well, that’s not as common.”

Adam pictured a very sheepish look on Blake’s face. “I was worried about finding a nice girl, but she turns out being a prostitute and demanding thousands of dollars. I’ve been on the lookout, but I, uh, think I’m too paranoid.”

“You’ll get there,” the man said. “Eventually.”

“It’s my first time in the big city,” Blake defended. His accent had been thickening all night. Adam didn’t know if that was Blake ‘getting in character’ or nerves. “I came in from Oklahoma to try and be an actor, which seemed more plausible when I was the only talented actor in my small town. I knew the competition would be steeper here, but I was still unprepared.”

The man raised his eyebrows. “You want to be an actor?”

“Yeah, I thought I would find a gig after a few months, prove my parents wrong, all that,” Blake said, bitterly taking a drink of beer. Adam restrained his impulse to check if Blake actually had take drama in high school.  “But it’s been months of a whole lot of nothing.”

“It’s hard to get into,” the man said.

“It is,” Blake said, his hand shot out. The man side-eyed it. “I’m Evan O’Bryan, by the way.”

The man finished his glass then shook Blake’s hand. “Phil Maloney.”

“Nice to meet you, Phil.”

 

* * *

 

“I don’t like him,” Adam said. Phil gave up on his search around the bar and concentrated solely on Blake. The duo was laughing about something stupid Phil said. Blake’s polite fake laugh long ago faded.

“He hasn’t been arrested,” Pharrell said. “So his record is taking longer to find.”

“I know why the system is slow,” Adam said. His headset wasn’t off, but it sat on the table after it became apparent Phil and Blake were a permanent fixture in this op. Blake could probably still hear bits of their conversation. “But I get a bad vibe from Phil. I don’t care what the computer will say about him.”

“He seems fine,” Pharrell paused. “They’re just talking about hunting.”

“Then maybe Blake should leave his new buddy behind and actually do his job?” Adam suggested, apparently not as lightly as he intended because Pharrell raised his eyebrows.

“Blake needs to blend in, but we’ll pull him soon,” Pharrell said. “It’s nearly one. Most of the victims were killed ten to midnight. Our killer has been specific about everything else in his crime scenes: how he kills them, who he kills, the position they’re in when we find them. It’s safe to assume he’s meticulous about time as well.”

 Adam huffed. “Yeah.”

“We can always try again tomorrow. We’ll have more time to get information on Lively & Offerman,” Pharrell said. The federal agent hesitated, glancing at the other two federal agents who long ago wandered to the front of the van to keep an eye on the street. “Blake is safe. We have more officers on standby in case something happens.”

“I just hate that he’s bait,” Adam said. “I know I suggested him and Luke, but Blake was such an obvious choice. Besides, if I didn’t volunteer him, he’d do it himself. He’s one of our best detectives for a reason.

“But since he’s undercover, he can’t exactly where a bulletproof vest or any protective gear.” Adam sighed. “I just hate that he’s vulnerable to the faceless psycho. Blake is just laughing like it’s a regular night out. It’s irritating.”

“He does need to blend in,” Pharrell reminded. “Having a bar friend does that.”

“I know,” Adam said. “I just wish he’d take it more seriously.”

Pharrell thankfully stayed quiet about Adam’s own rambunctious, generally flippant attitude either from unfamiliarity or politeness. But either way, Adam was grateful. The longer Blake was on the op, the more agitated Adam grew. The tech analyst was used to taking backseat to most police procedures and cases, but this was the first time he worked directly in the field on such a high profile case. Adam watched Phil take another drink. A case that involved Blake, anyway.

“Blake, pull out when you can. We’re regrouping for tomorrow,” Pharrell said, finally breaking the silence. He turned to the other agents, lowering his headset next to Adam’s. “Contact the others. Tell them to head back to the station for a quick debriefing then we’ll scatter.”

Adam pulled the headset back on while Pharrell stretched out of his chair and pulled out his phone to call Gwen. Someone should monitor Blake. Not that Blake wasn’t capable, but Adam’s paranoia refused to acknowledge Blake’s years of experience.

Adam half-paid attention to their conversation as he fiddled with the computer. Phil was obviously not a criminal or government employee, which was very inconvenient as that made Phil not as relevant in the system. Adam sighed. They most likely wouldn’t get any results back on Phil until tomorrow. Blake’s new friend was probably something boring like an accountant or insurance representative.

“—just down the block?” Phil finished. Adam frowned at the camera screen. What was he prattling on about? “It’s not much, but I have a friend who’s an agent. I can give him your name and number if you want. We can walk by his office in case he wants to meet you tomorrow.”

“You’d do that?” Blake asked. He sounded genuinely awed, but Blake knew how to act. It was why he was chosen to go undercover.

“Course, I know how tough it is to get a break,” Phil said. “You deserve any extra help.”

“That’s amazing. Thank you.”

Phil jerkily handed him a bar napkin. “Put down your information so I can give him something. I’ll tell him to call you tomorrow.”

Blake wrote his alias and a fake number, with an Oklahoma area code Adam noted with pride, with no hesitation. “Let’s check out your friend’s office real quick. I still need to get back home and check on my chinchilla.”

“I would like the record to state that I noticed his general creepiness within the first second of him approaching you,” Adam said. “Pharrell, Blake is leaving with Phil. He wants us to be ready to move. He gave the code word.”

Pharrell nodded, transitioning from packing up to giving out orders with ease. “Units prepare to move,” he said into the police radio. He clicked it off, tossing it to Adam. “Prepare to call backup. We’re going on the field. We need to get eyes on Blake.”

Adam waved as the federal agents methodically grabbed their gear and exited the van in short time. He knew realistically that Blake and Phil couldn’t have gone that far, but the sooner Pharrell was close enough to incapacitate Phil, the better. Creepy Phil was hiding his creepiness with the origin story of how he met his supposed agent friend. Maybe they were all just being paranoid. But no agency popped up in Adam’s cursory check of the nearby LA businesses.

“The team is moving,” Adam said. “Pharrell and his henchmen are in route to you now. Hang in there, cowboy.”

“His office is down that alley?” Blake asked. “That doesn’t seem safe.”

Adam clicked on the radio, staring intently at the video feed. “Unit B, the suspect and officer are in the alley between Shooters and Modern Magic.”

“We have eyes on the target,” Gwen’s voice crisply replied. “We’re standing by.”

Gwen sounded so competent and lovely. Adam owed her some donuts and coffee after this whole ordeal. Fuck it, if the Phil did turn out to be psychotic, Adam would buy the entire FBI team coffee and donuts. If Blake escaped unscathed, of course.

“So your friend’s office is here?” Blake asked.

“Oh yeah,” Phil said, turning slowly and reaching for his pocket. “There’s a lot over here.”

Then the video feed turned into static and Adam promptly lost his shit.

“Phil attacked Blake. Move in now!”

The sound from Blake’s video feed still worked, but it was hard to discern the swears and scuffles from the static.

_Bang._

Adam swore. “Shots fired.”

“Target is detained,” Gwen said hurriedly. “The gunshot was from us. Blake is okay.”

“Good,” Adam said. Then he flushed. The radios were really supposed to remain impersonal and, supposedly, more efficient. Welp, he royally fucked that up. “Thanks.”

“It’s safe to come out if you want,” Gwen said.

Adam needed no prompting. He threw down his headset, climbing out of the van. He wandered out to the three task teams mulling around the street and drunken passerbys filming them. Phil lay on the ground, blood darkening his khaki pants. The wails of an ambulance blared a few blocks away.

He paused by Gwen, who smiled at his approach. He really wished he didn’t treat her so harshly at first. But jealousy, even when that jealousy stemmed from an obvious ploy for attention, made him petty.

“So this is our killer?” Adam asked.

“If not, then he’s definitely someone we need off the streets,” Gwen said. “We don’t know if he’s ‘Joe Bush’ but we’ll find out in the morning. We also have enough to gain a warrant and interrogate the head of Lively & Offerman.”

“Good,” Adam said, mentally sifting through the surrounding officers.

“Blake is by Pharrell if you want to talk to him,” Gwen said. Adam glanced at her. Was he really that obvious? Gwen just smiled at him.

“Thanks, Gwen,” Adam said. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Not too early,” Gwen said.

Adam snorted. “Definitely not. Don’t worry. I’ll bring donuts. It’ll make the day more bearable.”

Gwen’s face brightened. “Sounds good to me.”

Adam smiled, wandering over to Blake. “Your glasses cam fucked up. Was that your fault or Phil’s?”

“Hello to you too,” Blake said.

“Phil had something in place that interfered with electronics,” Pharrell said. “He was ready for anything.”

“Except for a swarm of agents,” Blake said. “He nearly shit himself.”

“Your own badassery didn’t do that?” Adam asked.

“I figured I should give big brother some credit,” Blake said.

“Thanks for that,” Pharrell said. “We appreciate your thoughtfulness.”

“See? I can help LAPD and FBI relations,” Blake told Adam. “The chief can suck it.”

Adam snorted. The late hour and beers were clearly catching up to him. “I’ll be sure to pass that on.”

“You both can leave,” Pharrell said, glancing at his watch. “I need to stay to take care of things here but there’s no reason for all of us to be exhausted tomorrow.”

“This is why you’re my favorite federal agent,” Adam said.

“I would say thanks but I feel like you hate most federal agents,” Pharrell said.

“Just like 80%,” Adam said. “So nothing too extreme.”

“Clearly,” Pharrell said. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Get some shut eye.”

“Don’t have to tell us that twice,” Adam said.

“Don’t stay up too late,” Blake called as Pharrell turned to the approaching ambulance. Blake nodded at Gwen as they turned, but made no move to detour to the blonde. He slung an arm around Adam, trudging back to a LAPD car. “I want to sleep. This is more excitement than I’m used to.”

“Let’s go to your place,” Adam said. “It’s closer.”

“I don’t remember inviting you,” Blake said.

“I’m sure I can find a way to distract you from that,” Adam said, nudging the detective to the passenger door. 

Blake yawned. “No doubt.”

 

* * *

 

“Taking a dead person’s identity is so harsh,” Blake mused.

“I mean, it’s not like they’re using it,” Adam said from his perch on Blake’s desk.

Blake just gave him a look.

“What? Have your identity stolen when you’re alive is such a hassle. It causes a shit ton of drama on both ends,” Adam defended. “At least stealing from a corpse is less hectic.”

“You concern me sometimes,” Blake said.

Adam rolled his eyes, sipping his coffee. “You concern me always.”

“I’m not the one advocating stealing dead people’s identities,” Blake said.

“Can you blame him though? Not-Phil’s name is actually Jeb Rodney,” Adam said. “Jeb doesn’t even sound like a real name.”

"Really? Jeb is the name that crosses the line for you?"

"Yes."

Blake stared at him. Again. “You like Everett Humphrey.”

“What’s you point? Everett Humphrey is a classic.”

“Where? Where is Everett Humphrey a classic?”

“I like the name Humphrey,” Gwen interrupted. Adam and Blake looked up at the federal agents’ approach. The rest of the FBI team hovered by the door. Unsurprisingly, Shakira hovered by Usher’s desk after she darted over to Adam for a hug, which he thought was to get Usher jealous but Adam didn’t mind being used. Shakira smelled nice. Adam noted Usher and Shakira’s phone number exchange with a grin.

“That’s because you have taste, Gwen,” Adam said. “Unlike certain other people.”

“I suppose I do lower my standards on most things,” Blake said. Adam scowled at him.

“We just wanted to say bye before we left,” Pharrell said. “You made this a much less painful process than it could’ve been.”

“What? Do you not like working with local agents?” Adam asked.

“Only about 80% of them,” Pharrell said.

Adam snorted. “I would say I hope we work together soon, but that’d mean something fucked up was happening in LA. If you’re in town, let me know. Either of you.”

“Same goes for if you’re in Washington D.C.,” Gwen said. “We can show you all the sights.”

“Sounds fun,” Adam said. “Blake would finally learn something.”

“We might have to schedule a trip out there so I don’t miss you too much, Gwen,” Blake said.

Adam rolled his eyes, almost missing Gwen and Pharrell’s amused—knowing?—glances. Adam blamed Blake on their lack of subtlety.

“You both have my number,” Gwen said. “Just give me a call.”

“Will do,” Blake said. He shoved Adam’s legs out of his lap and stood to give Gwen a hug. Rude. Adam’s frown lightened as Gwen turned to him with open arms as soon as Blake moved onto Pharrell.

“Take care of Blake,” Gwen said. “Keep him out of trouble.”

“I’m not a miracle worker,” Adam said, shaking Pharrell’s hand. “Have a safe trip.”

 

**Case Number: TP 38733**

**Incident: Kidnapping**

**Reporting Officer: Detective Luke Bryan**

“I’m not leaving,” Blake shouted at the chief.

Chief Aguilera didn’t bat an eye at his raised voice, just cocked a sharp eyebrow. Adam, like the rest of the bullpen, stared in horror at the unfolding drama. He came up as soon as he heard—from Usher, not Blake, irritatingly enough—what was happening. He came too late to diffuse this ticking time bomb.

“You’re not working this case,” the chief said matter-of-factly. “You’re too close.”

“Of course I’m fucking close to this,” Blake snapped. His red face and snarl was the exact opposite of the beaming boyfriend that woke Adam up this morning with half-cooked pancakes. Then Blake scurried out of his apartment to shower and change before work. A lot transpired in the hours between then and now. Adam hated that he didn't know any of it. “It’s my fault this happened to her.”

“I want you out of the station for the next 72 hours,” the chief said.

“You can’t just kick me out like this.”

“I tried to keep you here, but all you did was infiltrate Detective Bryan’s case despite your promises and my orders,” she said. “It’s more efficient for everyone if you vacate the premise. If you can’t do your job and concentrate on your own cases, there’s no point in you being here.”

“I can put down my badge for a few days if that’s what you want,” Blake said. “I just want to find Miranda. She was kidnapped because of me. I’m your most valuable resource in catching her kidnapper.”

“You already gave your testimony when she first disappeared,” Christina said. “Unless you withheld information, there’s no risk in us sending you home. We’ll treat you like a concerned friend, which is all you are.”

Blake’s face twisted.

“Don’t make me check up on you,” Christina warned. “You’re not contributing to this case on or off record. If you get videos, letters, or any source of contact from the kidnapper, you come straight to us. Agreed?”

“By then it might be too late,” Blake said. “Let me stay here.”

“You’re too much of a flight risk,” Christina said. “Let us do our jobs. You have plenty of our numbers if something happens on your end. Now, do you agree?”

Blake ran his hands through his hair. “Why won’t you let me help?”

“The same reason all victims’ family and friends aren’t involved in cases,” Christina said. “Blake, if you don’t agree to stay off this case, I’ll put you in our holding cells for obstruction of justice and case interference.”

“I’ll stay home,” Blake said, “and be useless.”

“That’s all I ask,” Christina said. Her face softened minutely. “Blake, we’re going to find Miranda.”

Blake huffed, his glower scoping the room at large. His eyes passed over Adam without pause. “You better.”

Blake snagged his jacket without waiting for a response and left the station in one fluid motion. He didn’t look back at anyone, especially not Adam. It took the slamming station door for the bullpen to shuffle back to life.

“Luke, this is top priority,” Christina said, turning to the detective. “Assemble a team. I have the kidnapping unit on standby. I’m calling them in in 48 hours whether you want their help or not.”

“Yes, chief,” Luke said.

The blonde nodded once, briskly turning to the elevator. Her eyes paused on Adam, who hadn’t moved past the outskirts of the bullpen since he arrived mid-argument. The chief detoured, stopping next to the tech analyst. “Make sure Blake doesn’t do anything stupid.”

“I will,” Adam said. “Chief, what the fuck is going on?”

Christina gave him a humorless smile. “Blake’s past came back on a delusional journey of revenge. Luke and Usher can give you the details.”

“Fucking hell.”

“Wait until you hear the details,” Christina said.

Which was not an encouraging note for the chief to leave on. But it set his ass on fire, which was probably her intention, and he marched straight to Usher and Luke. Luke paused as he flipped through some papers on his desk.

“What the fuck?” Adam asked in lieu of greeting.

“How did you hear about this so quickly?” Luke asked. “Blake didn’t have time to even text you after he got the letter.”

“Luckily, I did,” Usher said. “I wish I sent it sooner now.”

“What letter? When did this happen?”

Luke sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Blake was running late this morning. He said he overslept so he barely had time to shower and get to the station on time. Not that I care. He’s been cutting it closer and closer lately. Well, today he brought in his mail, which, again, isn’t all that unusual. We worked for about an hour until he opened his mail and that’s...that’s when he found the letter.”

“You remember the Cheyenne Scalper?” Usher asked.

Adam frowned. “The serial killer from Oklahoma? Vaguely. I only know that Blake helped catch the killer.”

“He was the one who personally caught the serial killer,” Usher said. “Arrested Becky in front of her family and everything. They were pissed. But you would think after attending her trial where she admitted to murdering the twenty found teenage corpses, they would accept their little angel wasn’t as pure as she pretended.”

“Apparently, psychopathic tendencies run in the family,” Luke said. He handed Adam a sheet of paper. Adam’s eyes widened as he took in a very disheveled blonde. The injuries were mostly superficial, but this letter—fuck knows how long ago that picture was taken—was clearly a threat: This was only the beginning. Blood trickled down her face, but despite her obvious predicament, the one eye not swollen shut glared at the camera. “We believe it’s Becky’s husband and brother who are behind the kidnapping. They’re the only ones with arrest records and were the most outspoken during Becky’s trial. We called the local police to check on the rest of her family’s whereabouts.”

“When did they take Miranda?” Blake had talked about Miranda’s visit for about a week. He was so obviously, endearingly, excited for his friend’s visit. Miranda was clearly important to Blake, so important that Adam had been nervous about meeting her. Now her importance to Blake and her fraught position carried new weight.

“The calendar in the background indicates earlier this morning,” Luke said. “Miranda’s flight came in around 5 AM. Records show her getting off the plane. If you could go to LAX and go through their security footage, that’d be really useful.” 

“Of course,” Adam said.

“I’ll drive us there,” Usher said. “I’ll interrogate the workers.”

Luke nodded. “Let’s find Blake’s girl.”

 

* * *

 

Usher finished interrogating the airport employees who were working this morning and should have dealt with Miranda. Of course, airport employees see thousands of people a day so it was unsurprising that none of them recognized her. Unsurprising, but disheartening. Now the detective and tech analyst, under the eyes of the security supervisor, surveyed the multiple airport cameras from that morning. The LAX security made a fuss about how they needed a warrant but a quick call from Christina soon altered the blatantly uncooperative LAX to grudgingly accommodating.

Finding Miranda on the security feed was like a giant game of Where’s Waldo, except with all the vexation and none of the carefree knowledge that giving up held no consequence. Now, they were keeping an eye on her on the multiple screens she passed—and the airport had a fuck ton of cameras—until she, hopefully, got kidnapped. Which was not a desire Adam ever thought he would have.

“Do you see any of Becky’s family?” Usher asked as they watched Miranda finally snag her suitcase from baggage claim.

“Nope,” Adam said. The pictures of Becky’s family lay in front of them. They were mostly keeping an eye out for the husband and brother but Luke and Usher weren’t past ruling this as a giant family shitfest. Even with the pictures, it was nearly impossible to look for any member of Becky’s family. It was hard enough locating Miranda and they knew the time and location of her departure.

Miranda on the video weaved around the clusters of slow moving people. At least her fast pace would make anyone following her also be faster and, therefore, more noticeable. But Adam didn’t spy any obvious movement in the crowds behind her.

Usher cursed when Miranda waved down a taxi and climbed inside.

Adam just frowned. “That taxi gunned for her as soon as she left the airport doors. It passed like three people to get to her.”

“Replay it,” Usher said.

Adam rewound the security feed with a few clicks. He and Usher watched the video in slow motion. Adam breathed a sigh of relief. He didn’t imagine it. That taxi deliberately chose Miranda. Adam scratched down the license plate number before clicking to the different pickup lane angles. It wasn’t until the wide shot and the third replay that they spotted the taxi cab that took Miranda. A figure ran to the taxi cab thirty seconds before it drove to Miranda.

“How much can you zoom in on this?” Usher asked.

“Not much,” the LAX security supervisor said.

“None of the other cameras cover that corner of the pickup lanes,” Adam murmured. “Can we take a copy of this with us?”

The security supervisor scowled. “You’re treading the line enough by not having a warrant. I’m not letting you take some of our video feed with you.”

“This is for a kidnapping case,” Usher said. “I don’t know what you think we’re trying to do, but we just want to find Miranda. This isn’t about you or LAX. Stop taking everything so personally.”

“So personally?” the security supervisor repeated. “All you cops are the same. You think we just fall to your feet to oblige you.”

“No, we just generally work with people who care about the common good,” Usher said. “Outlandish, apparently, to expect people to not be self-serving.”

“Oh, what a nicely tinted view of the world you have,” the security supervisor said. “How conveniently suited for your needs.”

“Take me to your supervisor,” Usher said. “Now.”

“Fine,” the security supervisor said. “Follow me, _cop_.”

As soon as the door clicked shut, Adam withdrew a flashdrive from his laptop case and shoved it into the airport’s system. If Usher managed to get permission, great. If not, then they had a backup plan. Adam wasn’t a miracle worker but he knew he would find more details after playing with it on his own computer.

Adam studied the frozen figure on the airport’s screen. He held up the pictures of the husband and brother. They were both hefty so, hypothetically, they should be easily identifiable. But everyone looked the same size on the wide shot. The person—definitely a man—running to the car looked like the husband if Adam had to guess. The figure had broad, football player shoulders and similar hair.

At least, Adam hoped he did.

He answered his buzzing phone without looking, assuming—hoping—that Jesse already found some results for the license plate number Adam texted him.

“Yeah.”

_“How’s the case?”_

Adam stiffened. “We have some leads. Blake, you know you’re supposed to stay out of this.”

_“I’m in my apartment. Not leaving.”_

“Yes, but you’re not supposed to be involved with the investigation through other means either.”

_“Adam, please...”_

Adam sighed. “Blake, don’t put me in this situation.”

 _“...I just want her to be okay,”_ Blake said quietly. _“I know I’m not supposed to be involved at all, but knowing that people are trying... It really helps. It makes me less anxious.”_

Adam rubbed his eyes. He really shouldn’t say anything, but he was already naturally inclined to help Blake even when the detective was teasing. Ignoring a blatantly hurting Blake was going against all his instincts. He swallowed. He just had to trust Blake not to do anything rash. “Usher and I are at LAX. Miranda made it through the airport without incident. We think that Becky’s husband and brother drove the cab that picked her up outside the airport. That’s all I have now.”

 _“Larry and Doug?”_ Blake repeated. Adam’s eyes flickered down to the pictures, matching Larry with the husband and Doug with the brother.

“Yeah, why do you sound so surprised?” Adam asked. “Didn’t you say they were the most pissed after Becky’s trial?”

_“They were, but I talked to my buddies back in Oklahoma and they said that Larry and Doug were accounted for.”_

“Did they see them?” Adam asked. “Or was someone covering for them?”

 _“I have no idea."_ Irritation was obvious in his voice. _“How certain are you that Larry and Doug are there?”_

“The video is shit because it’s a wide shot,” Adam said. “I’m going to analyze is back at the station and work the little magic I have on it. I’m guessing that it’s Larry and Doug, but that's because they're Luke's main suspects.”

_“Text me if it is them...please.”_

Adam hesitated. “Sure.”

_“Thanks, Adam. I’m going to let you go. Good luck.”_

“Don’t do anything stupid,” Adam ordered.

Blake chuckled. _“I won’t.”_

Adam didn’t believe Blake’s forcibly cheerful tone for a second. But he swallowed and pretended that he did. “Or at least tell me if you do.”

Adam briefly thought Blake wouldn’t respond. _“I will. Bye, Adam.”_

“Bye.”

Adam hung up as the door jerked open. The security supervisor glared at Adam, who hadn’t moved from his perch by the security cameras.

“Leave,” the security supervisor said. “Your friend is outside. If you did anything in here, don’t think we won’t find out. And we’ll sue.”

Adam gathered his bag slowly. “You should do yoga. You need to chill out. Or at least loosen that stick up your ass.”

The security supervisor was momentarily taken aback. “Leave.”

“Have a nice day,” Adam called over his shoulder cheerily.

Usher smirked at the security supervisor’s obvious disdain. They both were silent as they weaved their way out the airport. It wasn’t until they were in Usher’s Mercedes that the detective turned to him. “Did you get it?”

Adam flipped the flashdrive between his fingers. “Duh.”

 

* * *

 

It was late. Adam knew it was late. His plans to leave by 8 at the latest crashed and burned so quickly. The entire station seemed to band together to help on the kidnapping. Adam would appreciate it more if they made more headway on the case.

The cab was stolen and ditched fifteen miles from the airport. Luke personally went down to the alley Larry and Doug—or at least Larry. Adam could confirm the person running to the cab was Larry but the cab driver’s image was too distorted to be useful—abandoned the cab. But the only lead the detective left with was the silver Honda that was parked in that same spot as the cab the past couple days. Larry and potentially Doug apparently had the foresight to bring an alternate vehicle for their kidnapping. This case would be so much easier in they were just incompetent hillbillies.

Larry and Doug were clearly in LA for a few days, but none of the nearby motels would own up to hosting the Honda owners. It was vexing. Adam knew some neighborhoods hated policemen, but this put uncooperative to a whole new level.

Adam was currently combing through street footage, both official street cameras and amateur videos—Thank God the neighborhood had a lot of fist fights teenagers filmed and posted online—hoping to catch a glimpse of the silver Honda.  The Honda was most likely rented. Blake checked with his Oklahoma cop buddies and they said that Larry and Doug didn’t own a Silver Honda. Of course, they also said Larry and Doug were in Oklahoma so Adam didn’t particularly trust the Oklahoma cops.

His phone buzzed. Blake. His eyes widened at the time. Fuck, he really didn’t mean to stay at the station this long. He thought it was at least 9.  “Hey.”

_“How’s everything going?”_

“Nothing changed since I last talked to you,” Adam said. He glanced around the tech den, knowing that no one was down here but checking anyway. “I think Luke is still here, but I’m not sure.”

_“You’ve been at it for a while.”_

“Well, yeah,” Adam said. “So how are you holding up?”

_“I’ve been better.”_

“I can imagine,” Adam said dryly. “What have you been doing all day?”

_“Trying not to panic mostly. I’ve had varying degrees of success.”_

“Do you want me to come over?” Adam asked. “I haven’t had dinner yet. I can bring you some chow mein and we can chill on your coach. Or, you know, do something a tad more energetic but much more distracting.”

Blake was quiet.

Adam forced his bravado to continue. He needed a response from Blake right now. He had no idea what his boyfriend was thinking and that was terrifying. “I’m waggling my eyebrows at you, by the way.”

_“Thanks, but I just want to be alone right now.”_

Adam ignored his instant pang. He couldn’t impose himself on Blake. Just because he wanted people and distractions whenever something vaguely stressful occurred didn’t mean Blake was the same. Even if Adam would honestly just feel better holding Blake and cuddling in bed.

But this was about Blake, not Adam.

“Alright,” Adam said. “Just call if you change your mind.”

 _“I will,”_ Blake said. _“Go home soon though, yeah? Don’t burn yourself out. Remember coffee isn’t a substitute for sleep.”_

“That’s why you strategically combine energy drinks with your coffee intake,” Adam said.

Blake snorted. It was soft but genuine. It loosened the knot lodged in Adam’s throat. _“Goodnight, Adam.”_

“Night.”

Adam finally left when the night custodian, Shelley, came into the basement at 11:40. But, that had more to do with him finally finding a shot of the silver Honda and sending the screenshot to Luke. He fucking knew that the silver car was a rental. The bumper stick proudly displaying Enterprise stood out starkly against the faded silver paint. Adam couldn't repress his grin. Finally, they were making progress.

 

* * *

 

Blake hadn’t contacted him all day. Adam didn’t usually consider himself a clingy person. But generally he wasn’t in relationships simultaneously as serious as the one with Blake and where his boyfriend was involved with a personal case.

Luke talked to the car rental branch the next morning, the third Enterprise branch being the one that Larry and Doug used. So the LAPD now had official records proving the duo arrived in LA a few days ago. The car was due back in a few days, which held the potential of a deadline if Larry and Doug were dementedly on schedule and didn’t want to leave a trace, even if that trace was a late or missing rental car.

Honestly, Adam thought Blake would at least call to check on the case’s progress. But nope.

He wasn’t worried. He wasn’t.

His friends noticed his short behavior, but they assumed it was the stress of the case, which it was partially. They had no idea how closed off Blake suddenly was. It was disconcerting. Adam didn’t realize how much he relied on Blake’s constant presence until the detective wasn’t here for Adam to pester, vent to, or just generally get distracted by. 

Adam was tightly wound. Of course, this case was personal by default and resulted in a hurt Blake so that was expected. This whole situation gnawed away the little calm he had.

_Buzz._

Adam’s hand flew to his cell phone as soon as he saw Blake’s name. “What’s up?”

The following lack of response was not at all reassuring. Adam straightened in his desk. Harsh breathing and the low hum of a car came through Blake’s line.

“Blake?”

 _“Hey,”_ Blake said finally. _“I’m just calling to check in.”_

Adam bit his lip, unease already tickling the back of his neck. “The case is going good. We’re chasing a few leads now. I think Luke is determined to solve this case before the chief gets the feds involved. We’re closing in on them.” Adam softened his voice. “We’ll get her back soon.”

 _"That’s great,”_ Blake said. Every word that escaped his mouth felt heavy. As if it were effort just for Blake to speak.

“Are you okay?” Adam asked. He gave Jesse a fleeting half-smile when he caught his friend’s concerned gaze. “What are you doing right now?”

Blake sighed. _“I’m calling to keep my promise.”_

Adam froze. “Your promise not to be an idiot?”

_“Broken, I’m afraid.”_

“Dammit, Blake,” Adam said, grip tightening around his cell phone.

_“I’m sorry. I had no choice.”_

“You did actually,” Adam said. “You very much had a choice.”

 _“I got a video this morning from Larry and Doug.”_ Blake took a shuddering breath _“What they did to Miranda...”_

“Blake, we can help,” Adam said. Video tape? Fucking hell. This was why he should have gone to Blake’s last night. Adam’s presence would’ve guilted Blake into actually working with the police. Or Adam could have at least unofficially analyzed the video. “You know we can.”

_“They told me to meet them at this address and to come alone. They said Miranda would lose a finger for every cop they see.”_

Adam fought through the sinking feeling in his chest. His lungs felt constricted. Like he was drowning. “What address?”

Blake hesitated.

“Tell me,” Adam said. Don’t be stubborn, Blake. Not now. “Right now.”

_“It’s an abandoned warehouse outside of town. It’s on Broad Street.”_

Adam swore. “Why would you agree to meet them? You’re fucking going to get shot.”

_“I figured...”_

Definitely not the response he wanted.

“Blake, stop,” Adam said. Please stop. Just come back. Adam needed him to come back. “I’ll tell Luke. They can swarm the warehouse before Larry and Doug have time to act. You just need to wait.”

_“They’re not stupid.”_

“Neither is the LAPD.”

_“I don’t want to risk it.”_

“I don’t want to risk you,” Adam shouted. He vaguely noticed Jesse speaking rapidly on the phone. “Don’t be fucking Rambo. Be realistic.”

_“I’m already here, Adam.”_

“Blake!”

_“I just wanted to call and—”_

“Oh my fucking God you are not saying goodbye,” Adam said. “I refuse. You’re going to take this tearful goodbye and shove it up your ass. We’ll talk again in person when I beat you over the head.”

_“Adam.”_

“No, stop it,” Adam said. He forced his bubbling emotions down. “Turn around and drive away right now. You have no way to ensure they hold up their end of the bargain. Don’t risk your life for nothing.”

Blake paused. In that pause, Adam stupidly allowed himself to hope.

_“Goodbye. I love you.”_

Adam’s heart thudded. “Blake, stop and wait for backup. Blake? Blake!”

The dial tone droned back to him. Adam clamped his eyes shut, dragging his hands roughly down his face. Stubborn asshole. Stubborn, stupidly protective, hero complex asshole. Adam could murder him.

He just wanted Blake to be safe.

He needed Blake to be safe. Blake was too important for him to suddenly vanish from Adam’s life. He was too important for a psycho’s bullet.

A hand startled him. Adam shied away. He opened his eyes to Usher and Luke staring down at him. Adam felt wrecked. Going by Luke’s uncertain expression, Adam looked annoyingly fragile. Fuck, why did he spend precious moments freaking out when Luke and Usher were ignorant of Blake’s unnecessary plight?

“Blake is being a dumbass,” Adam said shortly. His voice barely wavered. “He’s in a warehouse outside of town on Broad Street. Larry and Doug sent him a video this morning and told him not to tell us about it. The idiot listened.”

Luke swore. “Stubborn son of a bitch. When is he meeting them?”

Adam’s face twisted. “Now.”

“Christ,” Luke said. “Tell the chief. Me and Usher are leaving.”

He and Usher ran to the staircase. Luke swearing about Blake’s stupidity. Adam could relate.

“Adam, are you okay?” Mickey asked.

“Fucking peachy,” Adam said.

 _“All units in west LA respond...”_ Luke’s voice crackled through the suddenly silent tech lab. Mickey lunged for his radio.

“If you turn off the police radio, I’ll stab your hand,” Adam said. Mickey raised his hands placatingly.

“Tell Christina what’s going on,” James said. “She has no idea and you need to do something before you implode.”

Adam hated that James was right. He wanted to wallow in his fury and distress. He was just so useless right now. He wasn’t a certified field agent and Blake refused to listen to him on the phone... Adam couldn’t do anything to prevent Blake’s suicide mission.

Who fucking willingly played chicken with two psychotic criminals?

“Adam?” Jesse asked.

Adam jerked away from his chair. “Fine, I’ll tell the chief. The fat lot of good that’ll do.”

“She’ll—” James started.

“I fucking might as well tell her the other thing too,” Adam said, punching the elevator button.

James frowned. “What other thing?”

“Blake and I are dating,” Adam spat, walking into the dinging elevator. “Which some of you probably suspected.”

“Wait,” Mickey said, “you’re dating?”

Adam ignored that his friends’ sympathy noticeably increased, never more grateful when the silver doors cut him off from the tech den. Adam took a deep breath, sinking against the wall.

Adam closed his eyes, running shaking hands through his hair. His mind ran in useless cycles of panic. Adam could barely concentrate on Blake’s current whereabouts. All he could picture was Blake. Blake waking him up with a kiss, Blake engulfing Adam in a hug, Adam searching for him behind the bank window, their first kiss, getting stuck in the stupid elevator together, Adam getting irritated at the new detective... Their entire relationship flashed through his mind and he hated it.

It felt too much like goodbye.

 

* * *

 

Adam jittered by Blake’s desk.

He heard the call fifteen minutes ago and still couldn’t contain his grin. They were returning to the station with Blake, while Miranda was transported to a hospital. They were both alive. Blake was alive. His boyfriend was returning.

Adam spun in Blake’s chair, hands restlessly drumming against his thigh. Christina ordered him to wait in the bullpen after he confessed to leaking details of the case to Blake. The chief’s decisive nature was both the best and worst thing about her. While it caused her to kick out the mayor’s assistant as soon as she spotted a frazzled Adam, it also led to his temporary suspension.

Adam had been useless and snappish at the few officers still in the bullpen until he heard Luke’s radio call. Then he was useless and ecstatic.

Honestly, Adam thought he would jump on Blake as soon as the detective arrived—he told Christina about their relationship before he left, which she raised an eyebrow that clearly said ‘no shit’—and screw what other officers would say. But that was before the detective walked through the door, limping obviously and chuckling with Luke. A couple cheers broke out as officers caught sight of Blake. Blake smiled and waved.

Then his roaming blue eyes stopped on Adam and he was inexplicably furious. He marched towards the detective. Officer Jefferson’s eyes widened and he practically vaulted out of Adam’s way.

“Looks like your wife waited up for you,” Luke said. Blake shot him an unamused look, but Adam’s glaring tunnel vision didn’t waver from Blake. “I’m not protecting you.”

Adam stopped a foot away from Blake. “What the fuck is wrong with you? You could’ve _died_. There are like twenty other plans I can think of at the top of my head that’s not nearly as pointlessly idiotic as your suicide mission.”

“I made it out with only a few scratches,” Blake began.

Adam poked Blake hard in the chest. The detective grunted. “I don’t fucking care. You’re a detective _._ You know how the system works.”

“I know—”

“You know how kidnapping and ransoms work,” Adam said over him, “but fuck if you do something as sensible as inform the police so they can do their job and help.”

“I know,” Blake said.

“Do you? Your hero complex and lone cowboy tendencies are bullshit,” Adam said. “That’s not how things work in LA or anywhere. What the fuck were you thinking?”

“I just—”

“You fucking leave me with that dramatic goodbye and what am I supposed to think?” Adam shouted. He really didn’t care that officers gawked at them or Luke stood a few feet away. He only cared about Blake. He needed to know that his life wasn’t expendable. He needed to know how important he was. Adam blinked rapidly. “You clearly didn’t think you’d come back. You—”

Blake ducked his head.

Using a kiss to swallow Adam’s retort was incredibly unfair. Adam held onto his righteous fury for a few moments until he finally responded because he really could never really say no to Blake. Especially when he almost lost him. His hands instantly slid up his chest until he cupped Blake’s face.

The couple wolf whistles from the bullpen went ignored.

Blake was here. Adam curled into Blake. The kiss wasn’t desperate, wasn’t needy. It was slow and tender. It was an apology and a promise. Something in Adam unwound.Adam tilted his head, resting his forehead against the detective. His thumb stroked Blake’s cheek.

“I don’t want to lose you.” Blake held him tighter. “Please don’t put me through that again.”

“I won’t,” Blake said quietly.

“Yeah, he’ll at least take you with him next time,” Luke said.

“There will be no next time,” Christina said, her crisp voice cutting through the general racket of the bullpen. The chief’s approach made Adam pry himself from Blake’s side, but his hand still curled possessively around the detective’s waist. “I thought I was explicit when I said you were not involved with the kidnapping case.”

Blake turned sheepishly, but not apologetic. “You did, chief.”

“And I find out not that you turned into the Lone Ranger,” Christina said, “but that you used Adam and your old Oklahoma contacts to stay ahead of the game?”

Luke blinked. “I don’t know why I’m surprised Adam helped you...”

“Blake also withheld evidence,” Adam said.

“Tattletale,” Blake muttered.

“I expect more from my officers and technicians. Listening to orders is a big one,” Christina said.  “You’re both suspended for a week. Don’t show up a second before.”

“Yes, chief,” Blake said.

Calculating eyes flickered to Adam. “And file the necessary paperwork with HR as soon as you return.”

“Yes, chief,” Adam said.

“Now scat,” Christina ordered, turning with a flourish and strutting towards the elevator. The bullpen buzz returned and most officers turned back to their work at her exit.

“I feel like she just sent you both on a honeymoon,” Luke said.

“It’ll be such a fun honeymoon,” Adam drawled. “Forcing Blake to go to the hospital, take medicine, rest, and not going on another one man mission.”

“I don’t need to go to a hospital,” Blake said.

“You really don’t want to argue with me about this right now,” Adam said.

“I just have a few cuts and bruises,” Blake insisted. “They didn’t get the chance for anything else.”

“That’s when the cavalry arrived,” Luke said.  “Good thing Larry and Doug have the flair for dramatics or else your stalling would’ve failed.”

“See? I’m fine,” Blake said.

“And the doctors can agree with your assessment when we go to the hospital and visit Miranda,” Adam said.

“Luke, tell Adam I’m fine,” Blake said.

“Funny how you think I’ll take your side on this,” Luke said. “I’m more than willing to loan Adam chloroform.”

“Let’s go, cowboy,” Adam said, towing Blake out the door. The detective waved at Luke as he followed Adam. “You got me suspended, your last words to me were potentially ‘I love you,’ and you almost died. You owe me.”

“I thought those were good last words,” Blake said.

“They’re great words,” Adam said. “Just shitty ones in that context. I love you too much for you to leave me.”

Blake’s sudden halt in the parking lot yanked Adam back. The tech analyst turned with a frown. Blake beamed. “You love me?”

“Well, yeah,” Adam said.

“I love you too,” Blake said.

“I know,” Adam said. “Your timing was terrible and I’ll never let you forget it.”

“I promise I won’t do that to you again,” Blake said.

“I’ll hold you to that,” Adam said. He tugged Blake to his car. “Now we’re going to the hospital for a quick examination and then you’re going to let me take care of you. Okay?”

“Okay.”

Adam held open the car door for Blake, who went through with an amused smirk. “Aren’t you suddenly agreeable. Where was this behavior earlier?”

“That was before I knew you loved me,” Blake said.

Adam shook his head, bending down to peck Blake’s lips. “Of course, I love you. It’s kind of impossible not to.”

Blake had the annoying tendency of making him vomit Hallmark cards. But Blake’s beam more than made his sappy words worth it.

“I knew my plan would pay off,” Blake said as Adam climbed into the driver’s seat.

“What plan?”

“To woo you,” Blake said. “I spotted you on my first day and it was love at first sight.”

“Bullshit,” Adam said immediately, turning out of the parking lot.

“No, it’s true,” Blake said earnestly. “I asked Luke for your name and I figured out your extension in the tech den. Calling you excessively during my first case was just stage one of my plan.”

“Is that also why you sabotaged the elevator?” Adam drawled. “So I would be forced to interact with you?”

“Damn, I thought you wouldn’t figure that one out,” Blake said.

“You’re not all that subtle,” Adam said.

“It’s hard to be subtle around you,” Blake said, waggling his eyebrows.

Adam snorted. “You’re a dipshit and your eyebrow waggling is still off. Like heinously so.”

“You love it,” Blake said smugly. “You love me.”

Adam grinned, snagging Blake’s hand. “I can’t fight you there.”


End file.
